


Miss Misery

by Abagail_Snow



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abagail_Snow/pseuds/Abagail_Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easy to write yourself off when everyone else has. Katniss Everdeen was never looking for a silver lining, the silver linings found her. Based off the movie "Good Will Hunting." (Trigger Warning: abuse, mental health, neglect)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss Placed

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is an idea that I mused over a few months ago, but recently it really found its footing. It's based on the movie "Good Will Hunting" about a savant with a troubled past, trying to find their place in society, and named after the Elliott Smith song "Miss Misery." I'm going to play it safe and say that there may be some Trigger Warnings for abuse, sexual assault, and neglect. I've tried to play Katniss's plight with justice, and have read several stories from foster kids who "aged out" of the system, and the struggle they had.

_Prologue: Mystery_

During the first week of the spring semester at the Panem Institute of Technology, Doctor Plutarch Heavensbee would place a physics proof on the whiteboard outside of the Quantum Mechanics lecture hall. It wasn't one of the standard, textbook written problems that were regularly assigned in class. No. This problem was one that even the world's leading physicists found difficult to unravel. One that had taken Plutarch and his colleagues nearly a year to solve.

It was a competition of sorts. One offered to the undergraduates of PITs physics program, who were on the cusp of finishing their degree, and in search of opportunities and accolades to kick off their doctorate studies. The prize was a position as one of Doctor Plutarch Heavensbee's research assistants on his latest funded project. Quite the achievement for an undergraduate, as Doctor Heavensbee was a world famous, well respected physicists, one of two to ever be awarded the Fields Medal for his work in statistical mechanics. When Heavensbee set out on a research project, it was a guaranteed publication in practically every APS journal around.

Often the graduate students would spoil the competition by solving the proof long before any of the seniors could wrap their minds around it. But on this particular year, not even the PhD students could crack the code. That was until the morning, one week before the solution was to be revealed, when Plutarch noticed an addition to the board.

The student had done what no other had thought to do. Assumed that the mass was floating along a conductive plane, designing the foundations for a hovercraft.

He announced proudly to the class, that whomever had tackled the beast was entitled to a lifetime of bragging rights, and free to start basking in the glory. But as all the young, wide eyes darted around the room, waiting for someone to stake claim, not a single soul raised their hand. And when he hounded the graduate and doctorate students, none would take credit either. Even the faculty members he addressed hadn't a clue who the mysterious physicist was.

And so, he began leaving a new problem on the board, each more difficult than the last, and with the same effortless organization of postulates and proofs, the solution was found.

Determined to stump them, it became his obsession. He searched through all of his research, all the publications made in his name, and finally, selected a problem that had yet to be solved. The subject of his latest research. He had some theories on the matter, but they all led to dead ends. He was still missing a piece to the puzzle and hoped his mysterious savant could find the answer. He wrote out the proof on the same whiteboard outside his classroom, leaving citations and equations as guidance, and then left, to wait.

* * *

_Chapter 1: Miss Placed_

Katniss Everdeen hoisted her mop from its bucket and rested it in the cradle to squeeze out the excess water. The motion was tiring, but her body had grown accustomed to it. The muscles in her arms and shoulders were rigid and strong, albeit smaller than most. She hid her strength in her petite form. Not by choice – she wished that she was taller. Heavier. People wouldn't consider her weak, which would have been an asset to her.

Instead, she barely existed. That was good too. It was easier not to exist.

The hallway to the physics building was dimly lit at night, especially on this floor. Elsewhere, tables were packed with buzzing students, working furiously on homework sets, even though it was a Friday night. That was the price for attending the Panem Institute of Technology, she supposed. That, and the $100,000 a year tuition.

Sliding the murky water across the floor, Katniss hummed quietly to herself. Her braid had frayed, and dark, wiry curls fell into her eyes with each pass. She paused to smooth her hair behind her ears, and pressed her lips together when she caught sight of the stack of handouts in Professor Chaff's drop box.

He taught Vibrations and Waves, a slightly more advanced course than Physics I or II, and left most of the assignments outside his office in case someone had missed his class. Katniss had checked out the textbook for the course from the library on a whim, and had been following along – as she found some of the material to be beneficial to her snare work. Not that she depended on snares to feed herself anymore. It was more of a hobby now. Something to distract herself from her mind. She took a copy from the drop box and rolled it up to slip into her back pocket.

When she finished mopping on the second floor, she returned the bucket to the closet and changed out of her gray jumpsuit. Her jeans were too big, sagging from her hipbones, and she hugged her large Army jacket tightly around her small frame to hide it. Her weight was always fluctuating because her body didn't know what a normal appetite was. Some months she would gorge herself, until she was bursting at the seams, but other times, her body shut down, preparing itself for imminent starvation. Her body hadn't overcome survival mode yet. She wondered if it ever would.

The bus that would take her back to her apartment didn't come for another 45 minutes, and while it was spring, it was still too cold to wait outside. Katniss stood in the alcove that separated the entrance doors, her eyes flitting towards the commons, where students huddled around tables and passionately argued over a particularly interesting problem. She unfolded Professor Chaff's handout from her back pocket, and smoothed out the creases to inspect it. None of the systems looked too difficult, and she had a pencil in her pocket. She sat at an empty table near the edge of the room and methodically worked through each problem. There were eight in total, and when she looked up at the clock on the far wall, she saw that only 10 minutes had passed.

Letting out a resigned sigh, she crumpled up the paper and dropped it into the trash bin. She decided to take the long way to the bus stop, traveling up the empty corridors to reach the far side of the building. There was an atrium near this entrance, with giant glass windows that stretched for three stories. From the ceiling, a thin, twisted piece of metal was suspended, and as it spun around it resembled different mathematical symbols, like e, infinity, and pi. Katniss watched as it caught the light and morphed into the different shapes, casting silver streaks across the walls.

There was also a giant whiteboard at this entrance, in front of one of the main lecture halls. Usually, it was cluttered with random student's notes, those who had paused mid debate to work out an equation, or prove a point. The past few weeks, however, complex theories had been left for students to solve. Katniss wasn't sure what the point was, but she found these problems to be much more challenging than Chaff's coursework, and had managed to figure out all the proofs that had been posted so far. Taking out a piece of scrap paper, she copied all the notes on the board, before stepping outside to catch her bus.

The city of Panem swept past her as the bus hurdled down the main drag of town. The yellow glow of the streetlamps was hazy and stretched and constricted as the bus paused at each stop. Near the outskirts of town, she recalled that Gale and the guys were waiting for her down at the Hob, the bar they frequented. Fortunately, it was a few stops before her apartment, and she reached up to tug on the cord that lined the bus' windows just in time to catch the correct intersection.

The Hob was more of a dive bar, with sticky, smelly floors, and walls that were covered with stolen street signs and other bizarre antiques. There was an unspoken rule that anything on the wall was up for grabs, as long as it was replaced with something of equal value. For example, Katniss had traded an albino squirrel hide, which she had caught and skinned in the woods, in exchange for an olive green jacket that had been swiped from an army surplus store. The pelt was the crowning glory on the wall, and the jacket was Katniss's favorite.

Rory, Gale's younger brother, and Thom were beneath the colored glow of a neon Keystone sign, leaning against their pool cues as they scoped out the spread from their break. Katniss acknowledged them with a small nod, and sat down at a nearby table. She was friends with both of them because of Gale, but outside of him, they were more of acquaintances. It was hard for her to make friends, and the relationship she had built with Gale over the years had sort of been a coup over her usual trust issues.

Katniss tapped her finger against the damp table top, and stretched her neck to look above the crowd. The Hob was never this crowded, but since most of the local universities had just started their semester, a lot more coeds were frequenting the bars on 12th Ave than usual.

She rolled the long sleeves of her coat over her hands, covering half of her face when she propped her chin in her palm. She spotted Gale almost instantly. It wasn't difficult. He was the type of handsome that effortlessly drew a crowd. Tall, with strong shoulders that tapered to a lean waist. Gale had similar coloring to Katniss, but while her features were sharp and harsh looking, his were rugged. His silver eyes were set deeply beneath his heavy brow, and stubble peppered jaw.

Their friendship was one that should have turned to romance, she was sure, but they never connected on that level. In fact, it was an idea she had hardly even humored. She and Gale were not lovers. They were not family. Simply put, they were what they were.

Bystanders, however, did not share in this interpretation, if the icy glares trained in her direction was any indication. Gale was flanked by two women, wearing their university's name tightly across the chest of their tee shirts, and they both seemed to have taken note of Katniss looking in their direction. Their laughter was fake, and they leaned into him as if marking their territory. Gale wasn't the type to play those kind of games, and he shook them off when his eyes connected with Katniss's.

"You're late," he said. He slid a beer into her hands and she frowned. It resembled a root beer float more than a stout, the way Sae poured.

"I thought this type of head was illegal," she said, holding the glass up to catch the light.

"From what I've heard that's your stance on  _all_  types of head," Gale said with a rye chuckle.

"Your brother is not a reliable source on that matter," she mumbled before taking a long swig.

He leaned his elbows on the table. "Would you like to set the record straight?"

"Gross," she shoved his arm, and he caught himself with his hand before he lost his balance. "Remind me to never allow either one of you near my sister." Gale dropped his gaze, his smile immediately fading. That was his usual reaction when she spoke of her sister. Like she was deluded and he was too kind to let her down gently. It made her angry, to be treated like a child, but she never brought it up. Maybe it was because she didn't want to know why he was so doubtful of ever finding her sister.

"You should ask your friends over there what their stance on the matter is?" she said, effectively changing the tone their conversation had taken. "I'm sure they'd love to go into graphic detail."

Gale glanced over his shoulder at the table of girls that he had left behind. He shook his head, his eyebrows quirking upward in a thoughtful manner. "They go to Four Districts College. Marine biology. Invited me to go out on their boat."

"They offered to show you their tits, and you're sitting here with me?"

"Funny, Catnip," he said, before lifting his beer to his lips.

Panem was a unique city in that it stood on its own as a thriving industry, but was also well known for its endless list of prestigious universities. Capitol and PIT were the most notorious, but they were not the only schools. Four District College was one of the twelve other schools on the list. It wasn't a community college, but it was close to it. They were top ranked for their nursing program, marine sciences, and quite literally, their student body.

Gale tipped his glass until it was empty of liquid and then dropped it to the table. "Pool or darts?" he said, licking his lips clean.

"Darts," she said, finishing her own beer and standing from the table.

There was a cluster of dart boards on the other side of the bar, and she spotted one that appeared to be vacant. Only problem was, it was located directly adjacent to the Four girls that Gale had rejected.

Katniss passed them carefully, picking up a rag to clean off the board beside the target. She kept her head bowed as she worked, hoping to avoid attention, but the girls beside her didn't speak with discretion.

"I'm hardly jealous of some dyke," the blonde said, tipping back her apple rimmed martini. "Look at her, she's disgusting."

"It's charity that he even talks to her," her friend assured her. "Can you not afford a hair brush on welfare?"

"Careful Clove, she may shank you in the parking lot," her friend warned with an icy giggle.

"She'd probably like that."

Katniss balled the rag into her fist and dropped it on the rack. She scooped up the dart set and crossed the room to rejoin Gale. Turning briskly, she launched a dart so that it struck the inner red ring beneath the 20. Without pause, she shot another dart, easing away the first one to land in nearly the same spot. She could still hear the obnoxious laughs of the girls, and it caused her heart to pound with rage, deafening her ears.

This hadn't been the first time she'd heard these types of insults hurled around. And every time she felt this dehumanized, she felt the anger rush through her blood like a mind of its own.

"Careful hot shot," the blonde girl, Glimmer, called out. "You're supposed to hit the center."

"Trip 20's worth more, Goldilocks," Gale called back, giving the girl a wink.

Her eyes shifted from the bulls eye to focus on the apple slice balanced on the rim of Glimmer's glass. She lifted her last dart to align with the bull's eye, but at the last second she turned her aim, and let the dart fly, the tip piercing the apple wedge and lifting it from the glass to pin it against the nearby wall.

The girls shrieked, one toppling her blood red cocktail over the front of her blouse as they fused around the speared apple.

Katniss bit back her smile. "Oops," she said flatly. "How do you like them apples?"

"Play nice," Gale said, rolling his eyes with faint amusement. He tugged on the end of her braid. "I'm going to go do damage control."

Setting her jaw, she clenched her teeth so tightly that she began to tremble. She and Gale tended to get along well because they understood one another. Their tempers were like fire, generally calm, unless rightfully provoked. She tried not to see the flirtation he carried on with this girls as a betrayal, but the feelings of doubt flared within her.

While she and Gale were alike, they were also greatly different. Both had lost their fathers when they were young, but Gale still had a mother, two brothers, and a sister. He was able to keep his family together, with the help of his mother. Katniss, on the other hand, had failed.

She didn't want to sulk anymore, and decided to get another drink instead. The area around the bar was densely packed, and she'd have to squeeze between a bunch of strangers to get Sae's attention. She hesitated, watching carefully for a break in the crowd. The music that had been humming idly in the background changed abruptly, drowning out the other sound around her, including her heart, which had been beating loudly in her ears.

" _You sheltered me from harm. Kept me warm, kept me warm._ "

She narrowed her eyes, turning to look at the jukebox. It was a bizarre song to play at a bar. Mellow. Easy listening. She almost laughed it was so out of place.

Abandoning her mission to get a drink, she moved to the abandoned jukebox.

" _You gave my life to me. Set me free, Set me free,_ " it sang to her. This time she did laugh, her eyes rolling back into her head. She braced herself against the frame of the jukebox as she laughed, any anger or anxiety she felt earlier suddenly lifted.

"Bread," she read the name off the screen. She shook her head, and began to flip through the menu to pick another song.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Katniss looked up, squaring her shoulders into a defensive stance at his accusing tone. There was no reason though. He looked harmless. Sure, his shoulders were broad, stronger looking than Gale's, but his eyes were a soft, gentle looking blue and the wild mop of blonde curls that dusted the frames of his glasses almost looked cartoonish.

He leaned his elbow against the jukebox and continued to speak with mock authority. "You can't change somebody's song. I think there's a rule against that."

"I wouldn't want to ruin my pristine record," she said wryly, and turned her attention back to the menu.

"Maybe I was trying to impress somebody," he argued.

Her eyes focused on his brown leather loafers. They looked expensive. His khakis looked freshly pressed too, and although the top few buttons of his dress shirt were undone to reveal a white tee shirt underneath, it was still tucked into his pants.

"You're going to have to try harder than that," she said.

He scoffed. "If you're going to insult my taste in music, at least have the decency to put something good on."

Katniss was scrolling through the Doors catalog and looked up at him incredulously. "What's wrong with the doors."

"Nothing," he bit back with disgusted amusement. The corner of his lips turned up into a grin, and she noticed the way it made his eyes sparkle, even beneath the glare of his lenses. "Just that Morrison is a glorified hack."

"This from a guy who thinks elevator music is appropriate for a bar."

"Fair point, but if you're going to override somebody's selection, it better be exponentially better," he said.

Katniss held up her hands and stepped away from the jukebox. "By all means. If you're the expert, please enlighten me, what is a worthy artist?"

His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes completely serious. "Justin Bieber."

She laughed again, so hard that her cheeks hurt. She punched a few more buttons and Guns N' Roses version of "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" began to play. "How's this?" she asked.

"A bit macabre," he said with a grimace. "But acceptable. I'm Peeta, by the way." He held up his arms trying to figure out the proper way to introduce himself, but he held a drink in each hand.

"Katniss," she said, nodding curtly.

"I've got this extra drink," he said, holding one out awkwardly. "My friend ordered it, but he sort of abandoned me to entertain his lady friend." He tipped it towards her. "Want it? I'm not sure what it is exactly." He inspected it curiously. "A JDB? Apparently it tastes like root beer. With Jack Daniels, of course."

Her eyes flitted between his face and the glass. "Um, no thank you," she said tightly. She wasn't about to accept a drink from a stranger.

"Sorry, that was really creepy," he said with a nervous chuckle. "Look if you want to corroborate my story, my friend is probably in the woman's bathroom, third stall, he says that's where he does his best work."

Her eyes widened, and she glanced at the bathroom and then back at him. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Wow, this is not going well at all." His grin was sheepish and the flush of his cheeks was so sweetly innocent, she couldn't bring herself to be annoyed by him. "Let me try this again. I'm Peeta. I go to Capitol." He flinched. "But I'm studying art history so I'm really just a dumbass, I guess, not one of those pretentious assholes. What about you?" he said, lifting his drink to take a desperate sip. "Where do you go?"

"I don't go to school," she said, lifting her shoulder into a shrug. "I just live here."

He narrowed his eyes. "You are 18, right?"

"Twenty," she corrected him. "One," she added, when she remembered where she was.

"Well I can appreciate that," he said with a nod. "Skipping higher education. Sometimes I feel like I'm flushing my money down the toilet for an exorbitantly expensive piece of paper."

"You mean your parent's money," she said, a bit more harshly than she intended.

He sighed and bowed his head. "I suppose so."

He balanced his extra drink on the jukebox and shifted his weight to lean on the wall. "So I have to confess something," he said. His voice was playfully serious again, putting Katniss on edge as she tried to decipher his motives. "I've been looking for an excuse to talk to you all night."

She took a step back, perplexed. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Since you were making a show of skewering fruit over there," he said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder towards the dart board. "It actually helped eliminate my competition, because before that, every guy in the bar was watching you."

"I don't think so," she said, shaking her head.

"No, I'm serious, they were," he said, his chuckle infectious. "But then they saw your aim, and now they're terrified of you."

She bit back her smile. "But not you?"

"Oh, no, that Glimmer girl had me cornered before. Kind of vapid." He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "You're like my knight in shining armor really, for knocking her down a peg."

He looked over her shoulder and straightened his posture. "Looks like my friend's back," he said. His eyes were still focused on the other side of the room as he pantomimed a conversation with his friend with tilts of the head and exaggerated hand motions.

Katniss followed his line of vision, to a statuesque looking man with tan skin and wild, copper colored hair. Beside him was a dazed looking brunette, clinging tightly to his arm.

"And ready to leave," Peeta added. "He's my ride, so..."

"Oh," she said, unsure of the disappointment that crept into her voice.

He bounced on his heels, chewing on his lip anxiously. "Could I get your number, maybe?" he said abruptly.

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Nobody had ever asked for her phone number before. Not outside of clerical workers at the courthouse and local precincts. Her cheeks felt like they were burning. "Um, I'm kind of in between phone numbers right now."

Her apartment didn't have a land line, and while she had a "pay as you go" phone for a while, it became a luxury she didn't really need. Usually when she had to list a phone number, she just used Gale, who passed along the messages. This situation didn't seem appropriate for that.

"Oh." His smile crumbled and he looked deflated. "Okay, I get it." He nodded politely at her, but didn't meet her eye. "It was nice talking to you Katniss."

He began to move away when Katniss's eyes settled on Clove and Glimmer by the dart boards. Gale wasn't with them anymore, he was back with Rory and Thom, and Katniss felt a vague satisfaction at this. They were caught up in their own world, in another conversation, probably over the earlier encounter entirely. But Katniss wasn't. And when the happened to glance in her direction, she felt a spark drive her forward.

"Peeta, wait," she called out. "Maybe you could give me your number?"

He turned on the balls of his feet to look at her curiously. "If this is your way of letting me down gently, it's fine. I can deal with the rejection rather effortlessly."

"No," she said, her voice carrying genuine sincerity. "I want it."

His grin widened, and she noticed the dimples that pinched each cheek. "And you'll call me?" He stepped back towards her, his shoulder lifting anxiously when he tucked his free hand into his pocket, the other cradling his half empty beer. "When your number situation is worked out?"

She smiled, nodding briskly. "At the convergence of my numbers, I will be sure to give you a call."

He began patting on his pockets, a bewildered look in his eyes. "I usually just use my phone for these types of things."

Katniss reached into her pocket and leafed through the scraps of paper in her pocket, handing him a clean one, along with her pencil. He jotted his number down quickly and extended it back to her.

"Nice meeting you Katniss," he said with a wink.

She pinched the scrap of paper between her fingers, feeling dazed as she watched him walk away. She pushed off the jukebox, scooping up the JDB he had left behind. Lifting it to her lips, she took a small sip, just as he turned in the doorway to give her one last wave. The drink was sweet, with a biting edge. It made her think of him.

Katniss returned to the table with Gale, Rory, and Thom, listening quietly as they teased one another, and dodging all of Gale's off handed questions about "that preppie guy over there."

When their glasses were all empty, Gale dropped them off one by one. Katniss lived closest to the Hob, and was the first stop. "You're picking me up after work tomorrow?" she confirmed as she climbed out of the passenger seat (her designated spot.)

He nodded, tooting the horn for good measure before driving off.

The key stuck in the doorknob, and she had to force it to twist before the door finally sprang open. She stepped carefully through the darkened room, making sure nothing was out of place. Every cabinet and closet door was left open, and she peered inside them and behind the shower curtain to confirm that no one else was there. This was her routine.

Katniss lived in a run down row house, which she rented from a family while the usual tenant was serving a back to back life sentence in the Arena Correctional Facility. It wasn't in the nicest part of Panem. But it wasn't in the worst part either. She would know. She'd spent most of her adolescence there.

It was nothing special. A tiny kitchen with a two burner stove, mini-fridge, and sink you'd usually find installed in a wet bar. A living room that consisted of a patched up couch and coffee table that she and Gale had pulled from a dumpster, and a bedroom with only a mattress and box spring piled on the floor.

Her walls were bare, with no pictures or decorations. She didn't have anything from her childhood, and as she grew older, holding onto memories seemed kind of pointless.

She slipped into a pair of shorts and sank onto her bed. Her comforter was clean and warm, always smelling of detergent. It was the first thing she had ever bought new. The only thing in her life that wasn't tarnished. She pulled the blanket to her chin and rolled onto her side to stare into her open closet.

The night was the worst. She was always trapped in her thoughts. Her memories. She never wanted to be there.

Katniss flipped on the lamp beside her bed and drew her knees to her chest. There was a pile of library books at the foot of her bed. Some of them were math and physics books, but others were manuals for the City of Panem's Child Protective Services regulations. She had read the manuals cover to cover countless times. Always in search of the loophole that would reunite her with her sister. She picked up one of the plastic bound books and turned to the page that listed qualifications for a guardian. The page was littered with highlighted passages and notes in the margins

"Embrace and protect."

"Stable and strong."

Tears clouded her vision unexpectedly, and she tossed the book aside as if it were on fire. She reached for her jacket to retrieve the scraps of paper in her pocket. Sorting through them, she selected the one with the latest proof scrawled across it. This was easy. This she could do. She reached for her notebook, and pressed her pencil to the page, working through the equations and unknowns until sunlight began to trickle through her window.

 


	2. Miss Taken

 

On Saturday, Katniss didn't need to wake up, because she had never fallen asleep. Books were scattered across her mattress, and her braid had unraveled into a knotted mess. She flipped the page of her notebook, her face inches from the paper as she scratched her pencil across it feverishly. She canceled out the last variables, letting out a long breath she hadn't known she was holding.

She looked back at the original proof, and then to the concluding equation. They matched.

It was 6 o'clock. She had to be at work by 7, and the bus that would take her to campus would be by her street in 20 minutes.

She groaned, pushing off of her mattress to stretch her cramped limbs. She needed to shower.

The door to her bathroom had a lock on the knob and a bolt above it. Katniss twisted it into place and roughly jerked on the handle to ensure it was secure. There was no mirror on the medicine cabinet. She had taken it down herself, leaving it face down on the floor of the hall closet.

She hated her body, and what she could see without a mirror was enough to make her sick.

The curve of her bones were sharp, piercing her skin. She traced the ridge of her pelvic bone and tapped her finger against it. It felt brittle and hollow. "You're stronger than you know," her social worker had told her during what Katniss had come to refer to as the "buck up little camper" speech. The one that was delivered with the same dramatic anguish every time, as if it had been rehearsed. It meant that Katniss was about to be abandoned in another home. Sometimes they'd buy her a milkshake for her courage. She never felt strong though. She felt mocked.

Her wrist was sore from writing through the night, and she pinched the tendons between her fingers to soothe the ache. It was slightly crooked from a tumble she had taken down the stairs when she was young, landing on her hands. Years later, after seeing a proper physician, he noted that her Colles' fracture hadn't been set correctly. She always thought broken bones were supposed to be unbearably painful, but she hadn't felt a thing. In fact, while it had limited her flexibility, the stiffened joint improved her aim for archery, giving her a steady hand that could strike a target from twice the distance.

Katniss climbed beneath the dull stream of water, using an unscented bar of soap to quickly clean her body. She lathered the soap in her hands and combed her fingers through her hair. Some people spent hundreds of dollars on beauty supplies. She bought whatever came in the largest pack from the dollar store.

Was that why everyone rejected her? Because she lacked a distinct scent? That's how it worked in nature. Mothers would abandon their offspring because they didn't smell right. She rinsed her hair until it was free of suds, and grabbed the ends in her fist to draw to her nose. It smelled like alkali. Whatever that was.

Why was human nature so defiant against what Darwin had taught? In nature, those who were broken were left to die. Katniss had been left to die. Why hadn't they let her? What had she done to deserve the punishment of living?

She dressed in the bathroom and weaved her hair into a braid. Slipping on her jacket, she rolled up the solution to her proof and tucked it into her pocket. The bus was early this morning, but she managed to catch it before it whizzed past her intersection.

Today she emptied trash cans, pushing a giant bin with a creaking wheel up and down the empty hallway. Again, the commons was lively with activity. Students were always working, as if it was fun for them.

When her shift ended, she returned to the atrium with the giant whiteboard. She unfolded the notes she had taken the night before and began to transpose them onto the board beneath the proof. She had only listed the known equations when she heard a heavy door slam shut. Katniss dropped her marker, and scrambled to pick it up.

"What are you doing?" someone shouted from the landing on the second floor, which overlooked the atrium. She could hear the echo of his footsteps as he hurried down the stone steps. Panicking, she froze, her eyes flitting from the board to the exit beside her. Her heart beat loudly in her ears, deafening her from all other sound.

She dropped everything and ran, leaving her notes behind.

Her pace didn't falter as she ran across campus, far out of the view of the physics building. She sprinted until the cold air burned her lungs. Until she could no longer breathe. What was she even running from? For drawing on a public whiteboard? That wasn't illegal. At least she didn't think it was. Her head felt dizzy. She couldn't think straight. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, surging her forward. She was in danger. She had to escape.

The man up the stairs was upset with her, he could have hurt her. No. She admonished herself. It was only numbers on a board. They could be erased. They could be erased. Her feet didn't seem to believe her, and she kept running.

A car horn blared beside her. She ignored it at first, but then it sounded again, tooting in a familiar pattern. She slowed. It was Gale.

He reached over the passenger side to hand crank the window down. "Where are you going, Catnip?" he asked, chuckling with amusement.

She collapsed against the side of his car, holding herself up with her arms as her chest heaved for air. Where was she going? Nobody was following her. She was safe. Her breath began to steady. She was safe.

"Waiting for you," she said, regaining her composure. "Figured I'd fit in some exercise." She pulled open the door and climbed inside, shielding her face with her hand when they passed the physics building.

He narrowed his eyes to look her over. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she said shortly.

He dropped it, his line between his eyebrows relaxing, before he turned to look out at the road.

"What do you want to do? Want to go back to my place? Posy's having her birthday party."

Posy was eight. Cupcakes and pinatas weren't exactly adult activities, but Katniss kind of liked them.

"Sure," she said, her eyes never leaving the window.

The Hawthornes lived in a duplex that must have been shared with college kids because of the number of cars that regularly crowded the gravel parking lot. Street parking was always a hassle, and because of Posy's birthday party, there wasn't even the tiniest amount of space for Gale to tuck his car into. He had to circle a few blocks before he finally found a legal space (his car had been booted too many times to choose otherwise) and they took a shortcut through the side streets to get back to his house.

Up the block, Katniss noticed an assembly of patrol cars and black SUVs, all with their lights blaring. There was a house taped off that looked to have been torched. The windows were all broken and ashy looking stains licked around the edges of the frames like a halo.

"Looks pretty bad," Gale said, having caught sight of the scene himself.

"Arson?"

"Could be. Or they just forgot to put their cigarette out. These things happen all the time, it seems."

They crossed to the far side of the street to avoid the investigation, but Katniss couldn't look away from the chaotic scene. That's when she saw him. Cray.

He was short and thin, smaller than Katniss maybe. The hem of his tan overcoat dropped past his knees and it nearly swallowed him whole. Katniss remembered him being taller - larger than life. Not some fragile looking man with round, beady eyes and thinning hair.

Cray was a detective now, but he used to be an officer for the Panem Police Department. Katniss would never forget Officer Cray. She'd never forgive him either. He was the officer who helped remove from her mother's home. He was there to remove her and Prim from their first foster home too, and then the second, when they were separated. He laughed in her face when she begged him not to take her back to a home. Every time she pleaded with her CPS agent to bring her to her sister – to tell her where she was even, he was there, mocking her.

She ducked behind Gale, hoping that Cray wouldn't see her.

"Is that Katniss Everdeen?" he shouted with an excited whoop. Katniss walked faster, Gale on her heels. "Katniss," he sang. "I found your sister."

She stopped abruptly, tripping over her feet. "What? You found Prim?"

"Maybe," he said with an air of disinterest, lifting an evidence bag to seal it. "I don't know. The investigation is ongoing." Her eyes darted from his snide smirk to the contents in the bag. It was singed with dark ash, but Katniss could recognize it as a stuffed animal. She had seen that cat before, with it's ratted orange fur. Prim had named it Buttercup, as if a toy had needed a name.

"Was she here?" she said, stepping towards him. "Where did you take her?"

Another detective walked by, tapping his pen against his report. "Looked like it started in the living room, right below the girl's bedroom. Probably why she didn't make it out, bet she suffocated before the fire got..." he trailed off when he saw Katniss.

She felt the blood drain from her cheeks, surging from her neck and arms as it plummeted through her toes. Her balance faltered on her wobbly knees and she tried to catch herself on the yellow tape that surrounded the crime scene. It snapped beneath her weight and she continued to fall forward. Gale caught her by her hips, and she slapped his hands away.

"Suffocated? Is she dead?" She didn't recognize her voice. It was shrill, like an animal. "Was that my sister?"

"It's an ongoing investigation," Cray said dully.

"Her sister?" the other detective said, the corners of his mouth dipping into a concerned frown.

"Miss Everdeen doesn't have a sister," Cray said, dismissing his colleague. "Not according to the state anyway. We have to protect the innocent from criminals."

"Was it my sister," she shouted again. "You have to tell me. She's my sister. You have to tell me!"

"We haven't identified the body."

Body. The word echoed harshly through her mind. Was that what her sister was? A body? Where was Prim now? In the basement of some hospital, spread out on a metal table with a tag on her foot? Would Katniss even recognize her?

No. She wouldn't accept that. Prim was fine, probably being held by CPS until she could be placed again. Cray was only trying to trick her. This was a game to him.

Then why did she feel so terrified?

"You know who lives here, you've interviewed tenants and neighbors. You know, I know you do," she said, and this time she pushed her finger roughly into his chest, the momentum enough to force him back a step.

He laughed coldly. "Careful kitty cat, don't make me hold you in contempt." He shook his head. "Always thinking you get special privileges. It's not our job to spoil you because your mother didn't want you."

She lunged forward, her finger nails digging into the flesh of his face until blood dripped in their path. "My sister," she cried, tears blinding her vision, but her grief faded, quickly turning to rage.

He had taken Prim from her. He had taken everything from her. To him she was a weak, little girl. Her situation made him feel powerful. He was wrong. Her hands shook violently.

She had to take his power away. She had to take from him what he had taken from her. Her hands latched around his throat, holding on tightly, stealing every last breath. He gripped at her wrists, trying to break from her grasp, but she wouldn't budge. She was stronger than him. He would know that she was stronger than him.

"Katniss, stop!" she heard, from some place far away. Where she was, it was silent. Like the sound of a shell cupped over her ear to listen to the ocean. It drowned out the chaotic shouts around her. It was calming.

Her body was ripped from the ground, forcing her fingers to slip from Cray's neck. She fought against the arms that held her. Stomped on his feet and thrashed her elbows wildly in an attempt to escape.

"Katniss, stop!" she heard again.

"Let me go!" she howled, in a voice that was not her own. Finally, she broke free and turned fast to find that it was Gale who had grabbed her. She blinked. Who did she think it was? Of course it was Gale. Attacking Cray had been a mistake and Gale was trying to protect her.

Her arms were yanked roughly behind her back where cold metal pinched around her wrists to secure them in place. "That's it, we're taking you in." The officers on the scene had witnessed the whole thing, and two had gathered to restrain Katniss, while another was tending to Cray, who was collapsed on the sidewalk, struggling to breathe.

"You can't do that," Gale argued. "She just lost her sister. She's in shock."

"That's not a get out of jail free card, kid. She tried to kill a cop."

Katniss felt numb. Her head was too heavy to lift, and it lulled back to stare into the afternoon sun. The world around her began to disappear, leaving her in a place where only images appeared, each passing by in brief flashes. The name "COIN" printed on the charred mailbox. Prim's stuffed animal, trapped in the evidence bag and abandoned on the curb. Cray clutching at his neck with heels digging into the pavement. Gale shouting at the officers in disbelief. When she closed her eyes the image of Prim burned behind her eyelids. She was dancing in the tall grass of a meadow, melting into the most beautiful sunset that Katniss had ever witnessed. She wanted to join her. She wanted to be dead too.

The patrol car bounced over the rough terrain, catching every pothole on the way to the station. With her hands bound, Katniss jerked roughly from side to side, unable to keep her balance. Her head banged against the window. The next time it hit, it was on purpose. She closed her eyes again to join her sister.

The seeds of a dandelion floated through the air and clung to her eyelashes like clumps of snow. Prim giggled as she waved for Katniss to join her. With every step she took, Katniss didn't get any closer. Prim was so far away she could barely make out her features. Just her thin blonde hair framing her pale face. She realized that she couldn't remember what her sister looked like.

The arraignment was on Tuesday. Her black slacks were too short and her shoes pinched her toes. She'd been wearing this same outfit to court hearings since she was 14. Her blazer didn't fit anymore either, and she bundled herself in her Olive Army jacket, a stark contrast to the professionalism she was supposed to present.

There was a stiff wooden bench outside of the courtroom that was coated in so many layers of polyurethane that it almost seemed plastic. Katniss felt small on it. When she sat flush against the back of the bench her feet didn't touch the floor.

"Are you Katniss Everdeen?"

His polished leather shoes came into view. So shiny she could see her reflection in them. She looked up from her lap. His suit was impeccably tailored too, and a blend of colors and patterns she hadn't seen usually before. He was too well dressed to be a public defender.

"I'm Cinna," he said. "I've been assigned to your case."

"I think there's been some kind of mistake," Katniss said, shaking her head. "I fall in the category of 'one will be provided to you.'"

"That's me," he said with a gentle grin. He extended his hand to her. "I'm your public defender."

She looked at his hand, hesitated, then nodded. "Oh."

"Do you have any questions?" He lowered his hand when he recognized that she wasn't going to accept it. "Anything you'd like to know about the proceedings?"

"Not really," she said.

He was quiet for a moment. He didn't look wounded by her rejection, he looked concerned, displaying a flash of sympathy that Katniss wasn't accustomed to. Although she didn't seem interested, he opened his briefcase to retrieve his case binder. "I've been looking through your file, and with your prior offenses?" He opened the binder to review his notes. "Several counts of breaking and entering, trespassing, theft," he paused. "Attempted kidnapping? Most of these incidents were from when you were a minor, but attacking an officer is a serious offense, and something that the court can't ignore."

Cinna sighed, flipping through some more pages. "I've worked out a deal with the judge. It's not great though, it's going to involve jail time." He balanced his briefcase against the bench railing, smiling apologetically, as he extended the plea bargain to her. Katniss eyes darted between his gentle smile and his briefcase. She couldn't get past the Prada logo engraved on the buckle. "That is unless you want to fight it."

"I don't care," she said, dropping her gaze back to her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry about your sister." She didn't answer. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

She took the bargain from him and skimmed it quickly. Six months. She asked for a pen.

Growing up, Katniss had a few brief stints in juvenile detention centers, generally only a few days at a time, until she could get a hearing. Most of these resulted in a slap on the wrist, or enrollment in some outreach programs that she never wound up attending. She'd never been in an actual prison before.

Katniss was given one phone call while she waited for her transport. It was around the lunch hour, so she dialed Gale's construction site, where she knew he'd be dicking around in the trailer.

"I'm not going to need a ride for a while," she told him evenly.

After she was processed, she was taken to an empty room with cold tile floors and cinder block walls, and escorted by a female guard. She was told to strip naked, and Katniss flinched when the woman's gloved hands touched her. She gave her an orange jumpsuit and undergarments, and allowed for Katniss to shower. She turned the water on so hot that it could have melted her skin.

The only possessions she had was what she brought to the court house with her. It didn't matter. There was nothing from home she would miss. The clerk sorted through her items, checking her pockets and wallet for any weapons. They let her have twenty dollars, the only cash in her wallet, and asked if there was anything else she'd like to keep. Katniss had no pictures. No letters. Only a near empty wallet and a few slips of scrap paper. She shuffled through the pile and uncovered the piece with Peeta's phone number. That was a good memory. She didn't have many of those. She fished it from the pile and nodded.

The cell block was filled with the rumbling echos of metal doors sliding open and shut. The guard's heels clicked against the concrete floor, but Katniss's tennis shoes were too soft to make a sound. The guard, Darius, opened a cell for her and nodded inside.

He was young, her age. His skin was pale and freckled, and tufts of red hair peeked from beneath his cap. He looked frightened. Too kind for a job like this.

He closed the door behind her and locked it. She looked around. There was a bunk with a thin mattress and limp pillow. The sheets were folded at the foot of the bed, meaning she'd have to prepare it herself. There was a bare desk and chair on one wall with a small set of drawers for storage. On the other wall was a toilet and sink. Katniss looked at the top bunk, which was empty. She wouldn't have to share a cell for now.

She stretched the sheets across the bed and laid down, resting her head on the pillow. She looked up at the coiled springs that held up the mattress above her. Watched these springs for hours.

Dinner was called. Then lights out. Then breakfast the next day. She never moved.

She followed the routine. Completed the work she was assigned. But kept to her room when it was allowed.

The guards rotated. Some she recognized better than others. The only name she remembered was Darius. He brought her a newspaper one day, a luxury inmates would have to pay for. "I heard this was your sister," he said, slipping the paper through the bars.

She unrolled it to reveal an article in the bottom corner. A short one about a house fire with a small school picture of the victim. It was black and white, but she could see all the colors vividly. "Prim," she whispered, stroking the heavy ink. She cut out the article and pinned it to her wall, memorizing every inch of it.

That night when she closed her eyes, she lay beside Prim in the meadow. The sun was low, near the horizon, but warm enough to heat their skin. A breeze swept past causing the lithe grass to dance around them. Katniss turned her head to find that her sister was already watching her. Prim was 16 in this vision, nearly a woman. She wore a white cotton dress and her blonde hair was braided like a halo around her head. It had been so long since Katniss had seen her face, the last time Prim was only 10 years old.

"Katniss!"

She sat up at the call of her name in the distance. On the edge of the meadow stood a dark figure, waving for her to join him. She squinted, unable to make out his face.

"Katniss, come here," he shouted, and she could only vaguely recall his voice.

"Go," Prim said, nodding encouragingly.

"I can't."

"You're free," she said. "You can't stay here forever."

"I want to stay here with you." Katniss leaned back on the bed of grass, but Prim was no longer beside her. It was someone else. Peeta.

Katniss woke with a start, reaching frantically for the news article with Prim's picture. Instead she found herself holding his phone number.

She stared at it until light trickled in from the tiny window by her bed. She didn't know what she felt, but she felt something. She didn't think that was possible anymore.

Nights passed by in a blur, each one ending the same. The meadow she shared with Prim became the place where Peeta would meet her in her dreams. Dreams. She was sleeping through the night now. Something she hadn't done in years. She felt safe here.

It wasn't right though, to share this place with Peeta while her sister's memory faded. She should have been grieving. She hadn't grieved enough. How long had it been? She couldn't remember. A few days? A few weeks? She'd been grieving for the past 6 years really. Planned her life around a ghost. Why was she so quick to let her go?

"What are you doing here?" she asked Peeta, after they had been bathing beneath the sun for some time.

He plucked a flower from the field, spinning it between his fingers and extending it to her. The sun was setting into the horizon behind him, bathing everything in an orange light, and she had to shied her eyes to make out the faint dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. She smiled too, taking the flower from him. "Giving you a reason to stay," he said.

The next afternoon, when Darius passed by her cell, she rushed to the bars to stop him. "Could I make a phone call?" she asked.

He looked startled, as if he was surprised she could speak, and then unlocked her cell to escort her to the community phone.

Katniss dipped her hands into her pockets to tickle her fingers against the slip of paper tucked inside. She smoothed it out to read the name and number scrawled across it.

Peeta Mellark

Picking up the phone from the cradle, she glanced over her shoulder at Darius, quickly hiding the smile that had crept across her lips. It took longer than usual to type in each digit, her body trembling from some unknown anxiety, but soon the telephone began to ring and then was abruptly silenced.

"Hello?" his voice filled the other end. He sounded surprised, and confused, perhaps even a bit defensive at being summoned. It was two o'clock on a Saturday, she confirmed by the clock on the wall, and she assumed that this would be as good a time as any to call

"Hi, Peeta?" she said, lifting her shoulders to stand tall, hoping this would calm her nerves. "It's Katniss. From the bar?"

"Katniss from the bar?" He sounded out each syllable slowly, like the memory was too far back, or not important enough to take note of. Katniss tightened her grip on the phone receiver, feeling mortified for ever thinking to call him. Of course he wouldn't remember her. He'd probably moved on from their flirtation the next night with one of those other University snobs, with their quick intellect and low cut designer shirts.

"Katniss Everdeen," he said, distracting her from her thoughts. "The one with questionable music taste, who was good at darts, and in between phone numbers?"

"Right," she said, releasing the breath she hadn't known she was holding, her smile fast returning.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to call." She could already picture him on the other side of the line, just as she had in the meadow. His sleeves rolled to his elbows as he reclined back into his ostensibly expensive, Ivy League issued desk chair. He'd probably be wearing nice shoes, even on a Saturday, and those would be propped on the edge of his mahogany desk, in between piles of neatly organized Art History books. And then there was his easy grin that lilted each word as he spoke, crinkling the corners of his eyelids, even though they were obscured by the thin frames of his glasses.

She tugged on the end of her braid to distract herself from the flush that warmed her cheeks. "Some things came up."

"Why are you calling me from a correctional facility?"

She grimaced, and retracted the handset for a brief moment to debate whether she should hang up.

"What?" she attempted to feign ignorance.

"The Caller ID," he explained. "Is everything okay?"

Words clung to the tip of her tongue as her mouth gaped open. It wasn't exactly easy, to explain her situation, and a large part of her didn't want for him to know. He liked her, and that was nice. Not many people saw past her baggage these days.

"This isn't your one phone call, is it?" he said. "Because I'm not pre-law or anything."

"Really?" She let out an uneasy laugh to help diffuse the growing tension she felt. "Well now what am I supposed to do?"

"Visiting someone? And please don't say your father or an ex-boyfriend," he joked playfully. "You can intimidate me well enough on your own."

"Oh, no." She twisted the phone cord around her finger. "They're all in much higher security prisons. I – um, I'm a temp worker, actually. Janitorial stuff – nothing fun, they have me cleaning up a prison."

"Is that safe?" He sounded concerned, and Katniss wanted to laugh.

"Yeah," she said nervously. "It's not too bad here."

"So is this the best number to reach you at?"

Her nose wrinkled. "I'm not sure if these phones work that way."

There was a pause, and she worried that he knew. Why had she felt compelled to call him? Because a dream told her to? What was she gaining? She'd only spoken with him once, and he wasn't at all her type. He was too friendly and outgoing, and his outlook on life seemed far too optimistic to ever match her own. And why wouldn't it? He was attending the most prestigious university on the planet. He had the entire world at his fingertips.

And here Katniss was. With nothing.

Yet there was something that drew her to him, like a moth to a flame. Haunted her dreams. She'd never invested much in silly things like hope, She never had a reason to. Bouncing around the system killed those types of dream, and losing her sister had shattered it.

But Peeta had found a way to make her smile, and right now, that meant everything to her.

He hummed into the phone, as if contemplating something important. "Who am I supposed to arrange our conjugal visit through then?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," she said softly, unable to force a smile. In fact, she felt her throat tightening in the telltale sign that her body was betraying her, forcing tears to the edges of her eyelids. "It may be a while. The commute is hell and I'm not sure when I'll be free."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, and forced her breath to steady. "I've got to go though, my break's over."

"Okay," he said, but he didn't sound convinced. "I hope you call again."

She pressed her lips together. "Me too."

They hadn't reached her cell yet when another guard stopped them. "Is that Katniss Everdeen?" he asked Darius, who nodded. "She has a visitor."

Katniss was confused. Gale was the only person who would visit her, and they had an unspoken agreement that he wouldn't come unless she asked him to.

"Your lawyer," the guard said, saving her the trouble of asking.

He relieved Darius and guided Katniss to an area of the prison she'd never seen before. There was a large room set up like a cafeteria where inmates were visiting with their family. Katniss scanned tables, in search of Cinna, but the guard continued walking, stepping around the corner where there was a hallway full of holding rooms.

There was a metal table with four chairs, all of them occupied but one. Cinna was on the side of the table with an empty chair. Katniss didn't recognize the other two people in the room. She reluctantly stepped into the room, and the guard closed the door behind her.

"Katniss," Cinna said gently, gesturing to the chair next to him for her to join them.

She stepped around the table to get a better look at her visitors. A man and a woman. The man was in his 50's, stocky, with a round face and nose. The woman was younger, maybe in her 30's. Her blonde hair was nearly white, and twisted into a voluminous pile of curls on top of her head.

"If they're here to adopt me, they're a little late," Katniss noted, sinking into her seat.

"No," Cinna said. "They have another offer for you. This is Doctor Plutarch Heavensbee and Miss Effie Trinket, Katniss. They work at P.I.T."

"Oh."

"We haven't been properly introduced, but I feel like I already know you," Plutarch said, his grin too wide to be genuine. "You've been solving my physics proofs, I think."

Katniss's eyes widened, and she quickly looked away. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sure those were intended for students. I was only trying to fill the time."

"No, no," he said quickly. "I am grateful for your talents, truly I am." He reached into his jacket to retrieve the notes she had left behind for the last proof, and handed them to her. "It was incorrect," he said. Katniss looked down at the pages, which was now marked with notes in red pen. "Your assumption for power, this should be squared." He reached across the table to point out her mistake.

She dropped her work and looked at him dully. "You came all the way over here to tell me I'm wrong? Thanks."

"Doctor Heavensbee is very impressed with your work," Cinna said. "In fact, he went through a lot of trouble to track you down. That's why we're all here today."

"I'd like you to work for me," Plutarch said. "On this project. I think that together we can solve it."

Katniss looked between Cinna and Plutarch, unsure of how to answer.

"We've worked out a deal with the judge," Cinna explained. "One that will release you under Doctor Heavensbee and Miss Trinket's supervision."

"What's the catch?" Katniss said, eying him skeptically.

"You'll attend court ordered therapy, twice a week, throughout the duration of your sentence, at the end of which, there will be a psychiatric evaluation," he said.

"Therapy?" she scoffed. "No thanks. "I don't need some guy with a degree to tell me what's wrong with me, I'm already well aware."

"Working with Doctor Heavensbee is a wonderful opportunity, Katniss," Effie Trinket said, the politeness in her voice so carefully calculated, she was visibly shaking. "Given your circumstances, you should be honored."

Katniss felt her blood boiled. "Honored?" she sneered. "Is that what you tell yourself every morning when you're filling the faculties coffee order?'

"Katniss," Cinna admonished. He looked to Plutarch and Effie. "Could you excuse us for a moment?"

When they left the room, Cinna turned his chair to face her. "How awful we must seem to you," he said. "Do you know where I got my degree?" Katniss had a pretty good idea, but she didn't say it out loud. "Capitol University." She was right.

"I was the first person in my family to go to college," he added.

"Some people are given every opportunity in the world, and they take it. Others grow comfortable in their circumstances, and accept what they have. That goes both ways, you know," he said. "You think that nobody cares about you, and I don't blame you. Life's not fair, Katniss, and it's been awful to you. But I care. And Doctor Heavensbee cares, and Miss Trinket does too. We're all betting on you. Don't let the bitterness keep you from living."

Katniss set her jaw, keeping her eyes cast to the floor. This was new to her. Nobody had ever gone out of their way to help her. Treated her like she was a peer, an equal. She didn't want to disappoint him.

"Okay," she said.

Cinna had already filed the proper paperwork for her release, and there were only a few more forms to sign before she was discharged. She changed into her awkward fitting clothes from court and her olive jacket.

"You'll meet with Haymitch tomorrow," Plutarch told her, as they climbed into separate cars in the parking lot, Katniss with Cinna and Plutarch with Effie.

"Haymitch?" she asked.

"Your therapist," he said. "He's an old friend of mine from school. I think you'll get along famously."


	3. Miss Calculated

Effie Trinket pulled her Cadillac into the closest legal spot and killed the engine. Her car was pink. Of course it was pink. Effie was a sales consultant for Flickerman Cosmetics, the top seller for the Panem region no less. Katniss had learned every excruciating detail over the past 35 minutes, the time that it took to get to her therapy session. “Plum is absolutely the perfect shade for your olive skin,” Effie had said over the steering wheel. “I've got samples in my trunk. Remind me to give you samples.”

Of course she sold cosmetics. 

Plutarch was occupied with a lecture that afternoon, leading to a “Girl's Afternoon Out,” as Effie cheerfully called it upon delivering the news. Katniss would rather be back in prison.

Katniss unsnapped her seat belt before the car was fully stopped and jerked her car door open. She was halfway to the main entrance when she heard the click of Effie's heels hurrying behind her. 

The building was covered with dull, yellow looking bricks, the style that was popular in the 1970's, and only a few thin shrubs accented the grounds outside. Katniss wasn't sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn't this. P.I.T. had lavish, polished stone structures and beautiful, lush gardens. It carried an air of prestige that demanded recognition and respect. This building blended in with the medical park beside it. It was plain. It was dirty. It was forgotten.

Effie paused at the entrance, her hand hovering above the handle with hesitation. She reached into her purse to retrieve a handkerchief, her chin trembling with moderate disgust when she pulled the door open. She waited for Katniss, gesturing for her to proceed, but Katniss couldn't move. She could only stare at the delicate lace material that separated Effie's hand from what she found to be undesirable. What precautions Effie would take is she was ever forced to touch her?

Katniss grabbed the handle on the door beside it with her bare hand, and ripped it open with such force that it made her shoulder snap. She stared Effie down, challenging her to make the next move with a lifted eyebrow. Terror flashed from beneath Effie's frosted eyelids, and she passed through the entrance without a word.

The air was stuffy inside, probably from mold hidden within the sloping drop ceilings. The hallways were wide, with speckled linoleum tiles that were sealed with a chrome trim. Katniss dipped her finger into one of the seams along the beige, cinder block wall, smoothing over the rough surface as she followed Effie up the various hallways that led to Haymitch Abernathy's office.

The Secondary Education Achieved Merit Program, also known as SEAM, wasn't a college or university. It was an initiative, run by the state, which offered high school students the opportunity to learn a vocational skill or earn certification in lieu of a college degree. It was there that Haymitch Abernathy taught Psychology and Life Skills, whatever that implied.

His office was on the third floor, up three flights of of open riser steps. At the top of each landing was some sort of potted plant with sun faded cloth leaves. Even though they were designed to “live” forever, they looked wilted, and dead.

This floor was carpeted, a neutral shade of brown with a faint pattern that was not intricate enough to hide the water stains that bled over the heavily traveled surface. 

Effie and Katniss twisted down a few more hallways, and Katniss began to feel disoriented, trying to mentally retrace the path that they had taken to get there. Her eyes searched for an 'Exit' sign. She hated not knowing her way out.

“Here we are,” Effie said, stopping abruptly. “Mister Abernathy is just wonderful. He's very passionate about his work.” She tapped against the door. “A few sessions with him and you'll be as good as new.” There was no answer. “He's very busy though. Very.” Her smile tightened and she knocked with more force. There was still no answer. “One moment,” she told Katniss, but the politeness in her voice struggled against her frustration. She twisted the knob and forced the door open with her shoulder.

This time even Katniss cringed at the odor. 

The room was dark, with light barely trickling through the closed blinds. It looked like a tornado had passed through. Stacks of paper lay in a toppled mess on the floor and there were more books piled on chairs than tucked onto the nearly bare bookcase.

“Haymitch?” Effie called, her hands tucked carefully beneath her chin to keep from touching anything.

Something moved, and Katniss jumped back towards the door. Her heart beat in her ears. She inspected the floor with a more critical eye. She didn't like to be startled in unfamiliar places. She didn't like to be startled at all.

There were a pair of boots peeking from behind the cluttered desk, the body attached to them was covered by a blanket of what looked to be reports.

“His work can be quite exhausting,” Effie explained apologetically, but it was obvious by her widened eyes and trembling jaw that she was mortified by the situation. She kicked the sole of his boot and he grumbled in response. “Haymitch, your appointment is here. Remember? We spoke the other day with Doctor Heavensbee and her lawyer.” He groaned something incoherent. “She's here right now, Haymitch.”

It took a few tries, but eventually, he was sitting up. He brushed away the reports, sending them in a flurry of crumpled pages and ripped staples. He dragged himself into his desk chair and swiped a hand through his thinning, greasy hair. His jaw was rough with gray peppered stubble, and his face sagged with deep set wrinkles. Katniss wondered how old he was. Certainly older than Effie. Maybe older than Plutarch, although they did go to school together.

“Katniss, this is Haymitch,” Effie said. Katniss and Haymitch eyed one another suspiciously and then nodded in acknowledgment. Neither went to shake the other's hand. Katniss liked that. Effie stood awkwardly between them, her tight smile fading behind her eyes. She handed Katniss's file to Haymitch and said, “All right then, I'll be outside.”

When they were left alone, Haymitch gestured at one of his book covered chairs for her to take a seat.

He scanned over the first page of her file. “A little trouble with the law, huh?” he said with a chuckle.

Katniss tipped over the chair and let the books fall to the floor then sat down.

“You hit a cop?” he sounded pleased.

She nodded.

“Atta girl,” his sloppy grin widened. He reached into the breast pocket of shirt and pulled out a tarnished flask. He took a drink then tipped it towards her. Katniss stared at it for a moment. The spiral track that held the cap in place hadn't been washed in some time, and had rusted into a dull shade of green. She shook her head.

He took another drink, frowning when only a few drops trickled out. Katniss watched as he ruffled through his desk drawers, grumbling obscenities beneath his breath. When he slid open the bottom drawer, it chimed with the sound of bumping glass bottles, and he grinned, content. He pulled out the one that he was looking for – the only one that wasn't empty, and ripped the cap off with his teeth. Setting down his flask, he attempted to fill it, mostly covering his desk with the amber liquid. This wasn't the first time either, Katniss noted, as she spotted various puddled stains in the shape of his flask across the tabletop.

Katniss leaned back into her chair and rested her elbows on the arm rests. She let out a sigh. This was a joke to him, this court ordered therapy. A chance for him to drink an hour away, while she sat idly and watched.

But wasn't that what she wanted? She didn't want to talk about her feelings, or have some stranger use her plight for his next great book. She wanted to be left alone, really. Or did she? Maybe it wasn't that she didn't want somebody to talk to. Maybe she just didn't think anyone cared to listen. Haymitch certainly didn't.

“Aren't you supposed to be asking me questions?” Katniss said, shifting uneasily in her chair. Haymitch lifted his eyes with disinterest, dripping whiskey onto her case file so that it stained the pages. “Tell me about all my mother issues and then give me some sagely advice?”

“Want some advice, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning across the desk so that his chest and elbows were slouched against it. He looked at her gravely, his gray eyes narrowing to slits. “Stay alive.”

She held his gaze. What did that even mean? His eye became unfocused and he crawled with his hands to sit up straight. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he collapsed behind his desk, vomiting violently.

Katniss wasn't sure if there was a garbage can hidden behind it, but she didn't want to find out. Without a word she stood from her seat and walked out the door.

There was a small sitting area by the staircase, where Effie was perched carefully on a mustard yellow chairs. Her eyes widened with alarm at the sight of Katniss barreling towards the steps, and she stood to stop her. “Is everything all right Katniss? Your session only started a few minutes ago.”

“He wasn't feeling well,” Katniss muttered, brushing past her.

Effie frowned, gesturing for Katniss to wait. There was a flash of something foreign in her usually vacant eyes. A fierce determination. It wasn't fitting of the Effie that Katniss had come to know, but Katniss was intrigued. She sat in the chair that Effie had vacated. 

“Why don't I go check up on him then?” Effie said, and then disappeared in the direction of Haymitch's office.

Katniss heard a door slam, followed by muffled shrieks that were distinctly Effie Trinket. There was silence for a moment and then the door creaked open and Effie was back. “He thinks he'll be feeling better on Tuesday,” she told her.

A faint smile twisted the corner of Katniss's mouth and she nodded, Effie smiled too. Then the moment ended.

After therapy, Effie drove back to the P.I.T. campus, where she showed Katniss to the research lab. It was accessible only by a magnetized ID card, one which was issued specially for Katniss with her picture on it and everything. The lab was separated into two rooms. One had lab benches with various pieces of test equipment and experimental setups. The other side was lined with computer stations, each separated by a partition. There were twelve in total, and all were occupied but the one closest to the door. 

“This will be your desk,” Effie said, and pulled out the chair for Katniss to sit. “The log in information is on the keyboard, and your e-mail should already be set up. Do you know how to use a computer?”

Katniss arched her eyebrows. “Um, yes.” She transferred schools too many times to earn a valuable education, but she'd at least learned how to use a computer. Plus, she used them often at the library.

“Good. I'll leave you to get settled then.” She turned to leave. “Oh, right.” Effie paused outside the exit and opened her purse. It was perfectly organized with slots and zipped off compartments, all seeming to have their own designated purpose. She tapped her brightly polished fingernail along each pocket, until she found the one she was looking for. 

“Here you go,” she said, extending a Blackberry. “Doctor Heavensbee's projects require complete dedication, and given the nature of scientific discoveries, can often be spontaneous. As his research assistant he'll need to be able to contact you at any time, day or night. Your time will be at his disposal. We thought you should have this.”

“My own phone?” Katniss held it in her hand skeptically, flipping it over to weigh the device in her palm. 

“A work phone,” she specified. “The university will handle the billing.”

“But I can use it?” she asked too eagerly.

“That's the intention, yes.” Effie let out a faint,amused chuckle, and Katniss couldn't help but feel mocked. She bowed her head and dropped the phone on the table, feigning disinterest.

It was stupid to care. Caring about things revealed weakness. Katniss hated feeling weak.

She waited for the door to click shut, her eyes jumping around the room to ensure that she was alone, before she picked up the phone. It was short and wide with tiny little keys that her thumbs were too broad to press. She squinted to locate where the numbers were hidden in the maze of keys, and ghosted over the sequence that would connect her to Peeta, never pressing any of the buttons.

She hadn't spoken with him since her release. It wasn't that she had been avoiding him – she had been busy settling back into the swing of things, and while talking with Peeta on both occasions had been nice, it hadn't been a priority. That's what she told herself at least. The truth was, she wasn't used to “nice,” and had been agonizing over the ways that things would go horribly wrong. He would grow tired of her and leave her once the novelty wore off. Nothing was permanent. She'd learned that the hard way on several occasions. 

Yet the thought of him haunted her. He demanded attention in her dreams, and even in her waking moments she couldn't ignore his presence. It was becoming impossible to never know him, no matter how hard she tried to resist it.

Tapping her phone against her chin, she took a deep breath. She stared at the keys again, and dialed the now familiar sequence of numbers. It began to ring, leaving her staring at the time bomb in her hands.

“Hello?”

She brought the phone to her ear. “Hi, it's Katniss,” she said.

There was enough of a pause for her heart to drop in her chest. “New number?” he said.

“New number,” she confirmed with a nervous grin.

“You have quite the effect you know,” he began, his voice taking on it's usual, playfully serious tone. “You would not believe the number of telemarketers I've spoken to in the past week hoping that one of those mysterious numbers would belong to you.”

“Sorry about that.” She bowed her head and rested her cheek in her palm.

“No, it's fine, I've grown to be quite intimate with some of them. Charlie for example. He hates his job, as you could imagine.”

“I bet,” she said wryly.

“So how's it going?” She could still picture his easy smile behind his words. How could she still picture his smile? She'd only met him once. “How's the prison job treating you?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I don't work there anymore. I'm a research assistant now. At P.I.T.?”

“Wait. What?” he chuckled. “That's random. I thought you didn't go to school.”

“I don't,” she said, nervously chewing on the inside of her lip. “It's sort of a long story.”

“P.I.T. though. That means you're just around the corner, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Maybe we can get together sometime. Lunch or coffee, something like that.”

Her mouth quirked into a smile. “We could do that.”

“What are you doing now?”

Katniss had unlocked her computer and was mindlessly clicking through her e-mail to catch up download the articles that Plutarch had already sent her. She skimmed through the abstracts and then scrolled through them to glance at the summary of results.

“Nothing really,” she said dully. “I just started.”

“Would you like to get lunch or coffee now?” he asked. Katniss's eyes widened at the request, and she began listing various excuses in her head to get out of it. “Or is that coming on too strongly? I mean I've been awfully patient. It's been weeks and I haven't even gotten a valid telephone number, so you really can't blame me for jumping on the opportunity when I have you on the line.”

She pressed her lips together. Even on a subconscious level, she must have anticipated this to be the outcome of calling him. She wanted to spend time with him. There was no reason to avoid it.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Oh I'm not taking any chances and finding a way to disappoint you,” he teased, his voice brightening. “Ladies' choice.”

Katniss lifted her University ID from her desk and flipped it between her fingers. It would grant her access to the building after hours, but it would also give her discounts at the bookstore, and entry to the Student Life Center. P.I.T.'s facilities weren't too elaborate. They had some Division I sports teams, but none of them were overly competitive, so their SLC was mostly aerobic machines and weight lifting equipment. 

Capitol University on the other hand, housed former Olympic athletes. They'd never win a football game, but they were top ranked in crew, wrestling, and archery, and their indoor sporting facilities were among the finest in the country. Katniss had passed by a few times and always wondered what it was like on the inside, especially their state of the art archery range.

“Does your student ID allow for a guest?”

While the outskirts of Panem, where Katniss lived, were only accessible by bus, the inner part of the city was connected by an underground subway system. P.I.T. and Capitol were both off the main Red Line, and only three quick stops apart. The trains ran often enough that Katniss didn't have to wait long, and soon she had left the modernized style of the P.I.T. campus, and was standing in the Colonial warmth at the heart of Capitol Square.

This was where the lines of city and university blurred. The shops and restaurants were frequented by students, tourists and citizens alike, even though it was nestled into the center of the Capitol University Campus. 

Katniss and Gale used to go to a bar in the Square often, when Gale had been “sort of” dating a bartender, Johanna. That's why Katniss was so familiar with the area. Johanna was studying arboriculture at Capitol at the time, and lived on campus – an apartment that Katniss had crashed at quite a few times when Gale had been “too tired” to drive her home when the buses had stopped running for the night. Of course he wasn't too tired to do whatever Katniss had heard through the thin walls, but it wasn't anything Katniss hadn't tried to sleep through before.

Katniss walked up the main drag to where she knew the athletic buildings were located. It was warm out, late enough in the Spring for the last of Winter to melt away. There was a group of students tossing a Frisbee along the stone path in front of her as they walked towards their next class. The green lawns that surrounded her were covered with lounging coeds, who had rolled their tee shirts over their belly buttons to bathe in the heat of the sun. It was livelier here than at P.I.T. Students mainly stuck indoors there, to do work in the environmentally controlled laboratories. Sometimes Katniss wondered if they ever saw the sun.

There was a quad in the center of the lawn with a bronze statue of Apollo surrounded by a stone bench. That was where she found Peeta. He was sitting beneath the shade with his elbows resting on his thighs, fidgeting with something on his cellphone. Katniss bounced on her heels, wondering how to approach him, but he made that choice for her, when he glanced up and their eyes met. 

She had to remind herself that this wasn't the meadow where they met in her dreams. This was real. Peeta was real. 

“Hey,” he said, his grin holding a touch of shyness that made her smile too. He stood from the bench and tucked his phone into his pocket. He was wearing a white tee shirt that stretched tightly over his broad chest, and shoes and gym shorts that had matching Nike logos. At his feet was a black gym bag and he bent over to swing it over his shoulder. “How's it going?”

She chewed on the inside of her lip and nodded. “It's going, I guess.”

“So the gym, huh? You trying to tell me something?” he said. He pinched at his sides, pretending to grab flab that didn't exist, and then nervously combed his fingers through his hair.

“Oh no. I'm just using you for target practice,” she said with a smirk.

The shooting range was in the basement along with the locker rooms and weight room. There was an equipment rental too, where Peeta took out two bows and a quiver of arrows. The archery range was similar to a pistol range, with solid targets on a track to adjust the distance to target. It wasn't a popular arena to use, and was completely empty since the team wasn't practicing at the time. 

Katniss set her target to the farthest setting and tested the tension of the string by plucking it a few times. She picked up an arrow and slid it across her finger to find its center of balance. It was closer to the tip than she had anticipated, and she lifted the bow with the arrow in place to gauge the proper positioning.

“Is everything okay?” Peeta asked, watching her routine with faint amusement.

“It's different than my usual bow,” she said.

“It's okay if you miss. Trust me, you don't have to impress me, I'm already in complete awe of you.”

Katniss aimed the arrow, pinching the end between her pointer and middle fingers, and then shifted her gaze to Peeta, their eyes meeting in challenge before she let the arrow go. She heard it strike, but wasn't quite done looking at him yet. He wasn't done either, apparently, and his eyes darkened from behind his thin, black frames, the blue nearly disappearing.

Her cheeks felt warm. A heat that spread from her chest to the tips of her fingers, which still held the bow. It was too much, and finally, she looked away, her eyes following to where the tip of her arrow had pierced the bull's eye.

“Not bad,” he said.

She picked up another arrow, and it followed the same path, and then another. She nocked a fourth arrow and began to aim, but then paused. “Do you want to try?” she asked Peeta, who watched beside her.

Peeta stepped up to the range and accepted an arrow. Holding it into place he glanced over his shoulder. “Is this right?” he asked her.

Katniss inspected his stance. “Relax your bow arm,” she said, and it eased slightly. “Lift your string elbow,” she added. He did, but he lifted it too high. Tentatively, she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his elbow to adjust his pitch. His tee shirt was soft against the pads of her fingertips, and she could fell his muscles tense and then relax from beneath her touch. She liked it. 

“Now you want to keep this arm rigid. Draw back with this muscle.” She traced the line behind his back along his shoulder blade. He turned his head to follow the path of her finger, then his eyes flitted up to meet hers. Her chest felt heavy, making it hard to breath. Her gaze fell to his lips. She pulled her hand away and took a step back. “And look out when you let go. Your bow's rigid and the energy from the release is going to jerk in your hand.”

“Hand jerk, got it. I'm a pro at that one.” He nodded, lifting his chin back to the target and narrowing his eyes in concentration. He drew back the string, poised to release it, but then paused. His weight shifted abruptly onto his leading foot, pressing down the pedal that triggered the track to slide the target to it's closest setting. Close enough to lean forward and press the arrow into the middle of the center ring without releasing the string.

“Looks like you've got some competition,” he said with a wink.

He readjusted his target for a medium range and they shot a few more arrows, drawing the targets back to retrieve the arrows that had stuck. Katniss was checking the tips when she found that Peeta was leaning against his bow, watching her with a half grin.

“It's really not fair,” he said, his fingers idly plucking the string of his bow in a rhythm she found to be oddly fascinating. “We keep meeting on your turf so that you can show off. I haven't had the chance to impress you yet.”

She dropped the arrows back into the quiver. “And how would you do that? What are you good at?”

“Here? Wrestling,” he shrugged. His eyebrows lifted thoughtfully and he chuckled to himself. “That's probably more appropriate for a third date activity though. There's lifting too, but the grunting? The faces?” he shook his head and she could see a blush darkening his cheeks. “That'd probably be for a third date too.”

“You sure are excited about this third date,” Katniss said flatly. 

She had never dated before, but she could understand the implications. Peeta wanted to have sex with her, and he was making no secret about it. It was different though, unlike the guys she had slept with in the past, he seemed to be looking for something more. If he weren't, he wouldn't have been waiting around by the phone for her. He was certainly attractive enough to find someone else. But he hadn't. He had waited for her. She didn't understand what he saw in her. 

“Who says you're going to get a second?” she asked.

“I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess.” She looked at him curiously. “Kidding,” he said, grinning at her. 

She tried to scowl at him, but laughed instead. He didn't seem to take anything seriously. The good? The bad? It was all a joke to him. She wanted to hate him for it. He was just some rich kid, after all, who was laughing at the real world. But there was something so genuine about him that she couldn't. 

And then she pinpointed it. The way he was acting. He didn't judge her, he didn't even treat her like his equal, he treated her like she was _better_ than him. And although she knew it wasn't true, she believed him. 

“You want to get some coffee?” he asked after they had returned their equipment.

Katniss hated coffee, and cafes were even worse. “Sure,” she said.

“I'm just going to change, okay?” He nodded towards the locker room and held up his gym bag.

Katniss looked down. She was wearing jeans and a baggy tee shirt beneath her Army jacket, the same clothes she had been wearing on the street and then at the range. Yet _he_ was the one acting like he was embarrassed.

She waited for him upstairs, walking along a corridor with glass walls that overlooked different types of courts. Basketball, a swimming pool, tennis courts. She paused in front of a window for a game that she didn't recognize. It was two players holding oddly shaped tennis racquets, standing in front of a wall, where a net should have been. One served a blue rubber ball against the wall and it snapped back with more speed. The ball bounced between the players' racquets and the wall, moving faster and faster. Katniss began to calculate the angles to optimize the velocity, wincing when the player made contact too soon. The ball had picked up so much speed that it was only a blur as it moved, too fast for her eye to follow. Then it stopped. Striking one of the players in the gut. He hunched over in pain, lifting his tee shirt enough to reveal the welt the ball had left behind.

Katniss found if fascinating.

“You ready?” Peeta asked, stepping up beside her.

She kept her eyes trained on the court below. “What is this?”

“Racquet ball or squash or something. I don't really get the rules.”

The player who had been hit, stretched his sides then moved to serve the ball again.

“You ready?” Peeta asked again, and she nodded, finally looking away.

They passed several coffee shops along the way, but Peeta seemed set on a particular destination. They walked briskly, him with his hands tucked in his pockets and her with arms folded across her chest. Finally they stopped at a cafe called Victor's. He opened the door for her and she stepped inside.

All the names on the menu were for drinks she didn't recognize, and the line moved too fast for her to read the descriptions. When the cashier asked what she wanted, she panicked. “Coffee,” she said. Peeta ordered a tea. He paid, even though the bill was only $3.

They waited by the counter where the drinks served, standing idly against the wall where it wasn't crowded. Victor's was filled with antiques, much like The Hob, but in this case, the antiques looked to be actual treasures, rather than garbage one would find at a garage sale. 

“Do you like the art?” Peeta asked, gesturing towards some paintings on the far wall. 

Katniss hadn't noticed them before, but now that she had, she couldn't look away. She took a step closer so she could take in every detail. Each piece was wildly different, but they were all connected by a similar theme.

There was a figure, always smaller than the elements around it, and surrounded by chaos. Screams, darkness, snapping winds, rough waves. She wasn't sure how the artist had captured these things, but she saw them vividly. So much so that she felt anxiety by just looking at the scenes from a distance. The figure was always unaffected though, watching the events with a neutral, passive stance. It was at peace.

“Who's the artist?” she asked.

Peeta smiled sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. “Me.”

“They're incredible,” she said. “I'm impressed.”

“Finally,” he laughed, adjusting the frames of his glasses behind his ear. “Mission accomplished.”

When they're drinks were ready, they found an empty table and sat down.

Katniss reached for the sugar dispenser and tipped it over her mug until her coffee was closer to a sludge. Peeta took note, his eyebrows quirking with amusement in a way that made Katniss feel silly. She couldn't help it, she hated the ashy, bitter taste.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, pushing the dispenser to his side of the table in exchange for the pitcher of cream.

“No thanks,” he said, lifting his tea to take a careful sip. “I'm not really a fan of sweets.”

“What? How?”

“My parents used to own this bakery, and I got caught stealing a cookie off the cooling rack. My mother made me eat the whole batch as punishment. Haven't had the taste for them since.”

Katniss scoffed, incredulous. “How is that a punishment?”

“You'd be surprised,” he said, bowing his head with an uneasy laugh.

“I could eat an entire cake in one sitting.” She should have laughed then, but she couldn't, she felt ashamed. There were days when she was struck with a craving that was so intense, it turned into anxiety. She would bake a cake, ice it and decorate it as if it were special, and then eat it slice by slice until it was gone. If she didn't eat it all at once, someone else would. At the time she never felt full, or sick, or embarrassed. It felt completely normal. That was her relationship with food.

Peeta leaned over the table to look her over. “Where does it all go?” he asked, revealing every one of his perfect, pearly teeth when he grinned.

She pulled her chair closer to the table so that her body was mostly hidden beneath it. “We didn't have dessert often, I guess.” 

“Strict parents?”

Shrugging a shoulder, she deflected the conversation by taking a long sip from her mug. She hesitated to place it back on the table, waiting for him to pick up the conversation again, but the silence stretched. 

The truth was trapped with the air in her chest. It was too harsh to tell him that she didn't have a family. That she had been abandoned, bounced around and beaten through a series of homes that didn't give a shit about her. Those weren't the types of things you told someone who was nearly a stranger. He would pity her. She didn't want him to pity her. Pity was selfish. A coping mechanism others used to make _themselves_ feel better about a situation. She liked the way he teased her, the way he looked at her, the things he saw in her that she couldn't see. She didn't want for that to change.

He drank from his tea, and the steam bellowed over the porcelain lip to fog his glasses. He slipped them off his face to polish the lenses, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he worked. Katniss had barely noticed them before because they were pale, and usually obscured by his frames, but she was mesmerized by them now. They were impossibly long, tangling together into a fan of golden threads. He caught her staring, his round blue eyes peering up at her from beneath his soft lashes. He was perfect.

“Not exactly,” she said. “They're more health nuts. Want to live off the land and keep things all natural.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, they live in this log cabin in the woods, up by the lake,” she said. She kept her eyes downcast at the table as she recalled the house she grew up in. “My dad built most of it himself, although he never finished it. My mother had this huge garden that we got our fruits and vegetables from, and then meat from whatever haul my father brought home.”

“Haul?” his eyebrows furrowed curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

“Deer, rabbit, fish,” she said. “Whatever was in season. We could get all we needed from that, except milk and eggs. My sister wanted to get a goat to make cheeses, but they never went for that. My dad isn't crazy about an animal with a heartbeat.”

“You have a sister?”

Her breath hitched in her throat and she looked away. “Prim,” she said softly, the name ghosting off her lips. “She's sixteen. But this was all from when she was a kid.”

“Wow, that's amazing though,” he said, leaning against the table to listen intently. “Why would you ever leave?”

Katniss could recall the winter that her father died. It was sudden, and unexpected. So much so that he'd knocked out the exterior wall to the master bedroom the morning of his death, leaving only a thick plastic sheet to protect the house from the elements. It was cold that winter, even wrapped closely around the hearth of the fireplace. Katniss knew how to light a flame, but nobody had taught her how to build a proper fire. That was her father's job. She tried to pile the wood just as she remembered him doing, but when she touched it with a match, it would never catch. Only bellow with smoke before choking in the cold air.

Her mother had left them too. Her body remained, unlike their father's, but her mind was broken. She sat in the open wound of the house, legs dangling in the open air as her lips turned blue and her teeth chattered. She was unresponsive to her daughters' needs, and Katniss especially, who shared her father's coloring, seemed to push her further from reality.

There was no one to take them to school. The lived off a dirt road that buses didn't travel on and the bus stop was over a mile away. Katniss and Prim had tried to make the trek, but had barely made it halfway before their socks were soaked through their boots by the dirty slush along the path.

Their school was the first to intervene, due to their unaccounted absence. That's when Social Services was called.

“I got sucked into the city, I guess,” she frowned. “And never found my way back out.”

“Well I hope your sister gets her goat,” he said.

She puckered her lips and finished her coffee. Even the sugar and cream couldn't hide the bitter taste that it left. “Me too.”

Peeta offered to drive her home, but Katniss chose to take the subway back to P.I.T. instead, where she'd catch the bus she usually took to work. He walked her to the station, pausing at the steps that led to the underground tunnels.

“Can I see you again?” he asked, gripping the handrail that ran parallel to the stairs. 

Her eyes darted between his eyes, obscured by the glare off his glasses in the setting sun, and his earnest grin. She could have kissed him then. That's what people were supposed to do in scenarios like this. But what would happen then? She liked this. She didn't want to lose this.

She smiled instead.

As she sat on the bench downstairs, waiting for the train, she frowned into her hands. She should have kissed him.


	4. Miss Used

The muscles in Katniss's arm began to burn from the weight of the textbooks she carried, and she shifted the pile to rest against her hipbone and alleviate the stress. The Panem Public Library had its own bus stop on the line she regularly traveled, but the library itself was nestled off the main road at the top of a rather steep hill. Katniss had made the climb plenty of times, but her muscles still ached from shooting with Peeta the week before. It had been a long time since she had shot an arrow, and while her body remembered the motion well, it still cried out in agony at being stretched and awoken after a long hibernation.

The automatic doors slid open when Katniss stepped beneath the sensor, and she walked up to the drop off bin to return her books. The books were for the lower level courses that she had been following along with, but none of them would be applicable for the research she'd be completing with Doctor Heavensbee's team, so she would no longer need them.

There was a magazine rack that ran along the wall beside the checkout desk. Katniss had never looked through it before, because current events and tips on living well had never interested her. Today, however, she found herself flipping through the contemporary woman's magazines. The ones that told her how to make her hair shine, her skin flawless, and her man pleased. She picked up one with a well dressed celebrity on the cover and leafed through it.

The article for bargain outfits featured a pair of jeans that was $100. The blouse, shoes and accessories were no less expensive, and Katniss added up the sum in her head to $350. She looked at the finished product and imagined the model beside Peeta. He'd be happier with her, she decided, snapping the magazine shut and returning it to the rack.

Katniss reached into her pocket and pulled out the tube of "Puckery Plum" lipstick that Effie had left on her desk earlier in the week. There was a small reflective surface at the end of the cap, and she used it as a mirror to apply the color to her lips. It felt heavy and waxy, and when she furiously swiped her tongue across her lips to remove the makeup, it felt like she was eating a crayon. She dropped the lipstick back into her pocket and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth, leaving two parallel streaks of purple across her skin.

She turned her back to the magazine rack and sank to the floor to lean against it. Her braid rested over her shoulder and she picked at the stray ends that littered it. Her hair was a dull, lifeless color with wiry ends that were frayed and unkempt. She'd have to cut it soon. She always wore it in a braid, so the precision didn't matter. She didn't even use a mirror most of the time when she cut it.

Taking a deep breath, she used the bookshelf across from her as leverage to stand. That was when she saw it. On the spine of the book right in front of her nose.

"Surviving the Quell" by Haymitch Abernathy.

She looked at the sign overhead. She was in the "Self Improvement" section. Haymitch Abernathy had written a book on self improvement. She muffled her laughter in the palm of her hand.

Katniss hooked her finger around the book's binding and slid it from the shelf. The image on the cover was of a man looking over the edge of a cliff. The sky was filled with electricity, but it wasn't lightening. It was something else. A grid like pattern that sparked where his hand reached out to touch it.

She flipped through it without reading any of the pages and then snapped the cover shut. By the smoothness on the seam, it didn't look like anyone had read this copy before. She toyed with the idea of putting it back on the shelf, but the book remained in her hands as she approached the checkout counter.

The bus wasn't crowded this time of the afternoon. It was too late for lunch and too early to be returning home from work. Katniss sat with her knees pressed against the seat in front of her, and Haymitch's book in her lap. She opened the cover and then closed it again, unable to turn to the first page. She spent the rest of the ride looking out the window instead.

When she reached P.I.T. she swiped her badge into the card reader and waited for the light to flash green. The lock clicked and she turned the handle to open the door. Today there were other students occupying some of the makeshift cubicles, but none of them looked up from their computer at her presence. She pulled out her desk chair and sat down, sliding Haymitch's book to the far corner of her workspace.

She didn't have any new e-mails, so she slid her keyboard beneath her monitor to make room for her notebook. She flipped to the last page of her work to find the line she had left off on. Crossing off the terms, she frowned when she discovered that her equation was still unbalanced.

Her eyes darted towards Haymitch's book. Why couldn't she just read it? It didn't look to be too long, she could probably finish it in an afternoon. It didn't feel right though. It felt too personal.

Plutarch called her into his office and she gathered the notes that she had been working on. He listened carefully to her assumptions as she pointed out all the bundling of terms to replace with certain coefficients. His eyes lit up at the connection she made, and he stood from his desk to rifle through his bookcase. He found the book he was looking for and handed it to Katniss.

"Solid State Physics?" she read off the cover.

"It's the theory behind what makes those electronics so small," he explained. "Katniss, if we crack this code, it won't just change the face of Physics. It could change the world." He grabbed a stack of Post Its from his desk and scribbled something quickly. "I want you to meet with Doctor Beetee in the Electrical Engineering department as soon as possible. He may have some insight."

Katniss frowned at the name on the slip of paper. It had been hard enough to get comfortable working with Doctor Heavensbee. She didn't really want to add to her list of interactions. She looked down at the cover and wondered if she could teach it to herself through the book. She'd try that first, she decided.

In the hallway, on her way back to the lab, she ran into Effie.

"It's Tuesday," she said. "Are you ready for your session?"

The car ride was quiet this time, and Katniss watched out the window as the scenery changed from the campus, to the downtown business district, to the more dilapidated parts at the edge of the city. Eventually, the highway drifted into the suburbs, and then to the business park where Haymitch's office was located. They parked at a different entrance today, and took another route through the building, which Katniss tracked carefully.

Effie tapped on the door and checked inside, before opening it fully for Katniss to enter. The office was still in the same disarray as it was after the last session, but this time, at least, Haymitch was sitting upright behind his desk.

"I'll see you in forty five minutes," Effie told Katniss, before closing the door behind her.

Katniss sat down in the chair that was cleared. The books that were piled on it before were still toppled by her feet. Her eyes connected with Haymitch's and she arched her eyebrows, waiting for him to say something. He didn't. She looked down at her hands.

There was a clock on the wall, which clicked loudly as each second passed. Haymitch sighed heavily, but didn't speak. Katniss unrolled some scrap papers from her pocket and began to tear them into strips. She rolled each strip into a tiny ball and then flicked it towards the garbage can at the base of Haymitch's desk. She repeated the procedure until her pile of papers had thinned to a few sheets.

"You like sports?"

Katniss had grown so used to the silence that the voice felt out of place. She looked up at Haymitch. "What?"

"Do you like sports?" he said again.

She checked over her shoulder, wondering if maybe he was talking to someone else in the room. She shrugged her shoulder. "I don't know. Why?"

"You've been shooting baskets for the last twenty minutes, and you haven't missed once," he noted, nodding his chin towards the trashcan, which was now filled with tiny pellets of paper.

"They're all right, I guess."

"What other games do you play?" he asked. She glanced at the pen resting on top of her file, waiting for him to pick it up and write something down. He didn't.

"Bar games mostly," she said, her eyes carefully trained on his hands folded on his desk. "I like darts, pool, corn hole. I shoot too, mostly bow and arrow."

"No team sports though."

"What?"

"You could do those things by yourself if you wanted to," he said.

Katniss looked away. Usually she'd play with Gale, but they were always on opposing sides. It was never really a competition against him either, it was a competition against herself.

"I shoot hoops," she said. "That's a team sport."

"No. Shooting is throwing a ball into a basket," he pointed out. "Basketball is a team sport."

She scowled, folding her arms across her chest and slouching dejectedly into her chair. "What are you getting at?"

"To be a part of a team you have to trust people. Depend on them. Talk to them."

Katniss rolled her eyes. She didn't need to depend on people because she took care of herself. Depending on people gave them control, which meant they could take something away from her. She'd lost enough already.

"Then I don't like sports, I guess," she mumbled.

"What kind of relationships do you have?" Haymitch asked. Her eyes were drawn to the pen on his desk. He still hadn't touched it, and the page on his notepad was still clean.

"What?"

"I didn't think these were tough questions," he said wryly. He reached into his breast pocket to fish out his flask. "Let's try something easier." He twisted off the cap and took a swig, then set it on his desk. He leaned forward on his elbows and spoke each word slowly: "Do you have friends?"

"Did Effie yell at you?" Katniss shot back, shifting her weight to sit tall. "Is that why you've decided to play the good doctor?"

Haymitch narrowed his eyes at her and reached for his pen. He poised if over his note pad and spoke as he scribbled each word. "It is with my professional opinion that Miss Katniss Everdeen be returned to the Arena Correctional Facility, indefinitely." He lifted his gaze to meet her's in challenge. "You want me to sign this?"

Katniss chewed on the inside of her cheek, and considered his threat. He wouldn't actually send her back to prison. She didn't think he could at least. She glanced over at the clock on the wall, breaking the stubborn staring contest that they were caught up in.

"I have Gale," she said with a resigned sigh.

"And who is Gale?" Haymitch said with a victorious smirk that Katniss wanted to claw off his face.

"My friend."

"What do you do with Gale?" he said tightly, his patience waning the moment the session started.

"I don't know. We hang out at bars and stuff."

"Do you depend on Gale?"

She picked at a stray thread on the armrest of her chair. It unraveled another few inches but then held tight. "He gives me rides sometimes, I guess."

"He?" Haymitch noted, a knowing smile twisting his jowls. "You got a boyfriend?" he teased.

Katniss scowled. "If you're asking me on a date, then the answer is no," she said flatly.

Haymitch chuckled. "No thanks, sweetheart." He picked up her file from his desk and began to flip through the pages. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he read it. He closed the folder and set it down. "Do you talk to your family at all?"

"I don't have one," she said, her eyes widened and then dropped to the floor. That felt real. It had never felt real before. She had Prim. Prim was her family, even though they were separated without contact for years. But Prim was gone. Why had she forgotten that she was gone?

"No aunts or uncles or cousins?"

She shook her head and quietly said, "No."

"What about foster families? Are you still in contact with any of them?"

Katniss had bounced around so many homes she couldn't remember them all. Some families were all right, but Katniss was so dead set on finding her sister, she'd runaway or cause enough trouble that they'd kick her out, figuring that one day they'd run out of places to stick her, and wherever Prim was placed would be the only choice left. It wasn't the most sound plan, but it was all she had.

"No," she said.

"So let me get this straight," Haymitch said, flattening his palms on his desk. "You've got your shrink," he counted on his finger, "the professor, your babysitter, and this Gale kid?" He shook his head and chuckled. "You must have quite the birthday parties."

She glowered at him, unamused. "What makes you think I'd invite you?" she said. "You'd drink all the booze."

"Somebody has to have a good time."

Katniss bounced her heel against the floor, looking at the clock and then back at the pen on his desk. The only notes he had written was the idle threat. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

"I have other friends," she finally said.

His eyebrow lifted with some amount of interest. "Like who?" he asked.

"Peeta," she said.

"Who's Peeta?" he said, his face twisting in confusion at the way the name formed on his tongue.

"This guy," she shrugged, trying not to seem too interested.

"You sound close," he said dryly.

She looked around the room, never focusing on anything in particular. "We've hung out a few times."

"Why didn't you mention him before?" Haymitch said.

"I didn't think to," she shrugged.

"What do you two do?"

"We talk mostly. He's funny," she said. "He tells a lot of jokes."

"And he likes to talk to you?" Haymitch said his eyebrows lifting skeptically.

"Yeah. Why?" she said, feeling a bit defensive.

"Nothing," he chuckled under his breath. "It's just you're about as charming as a dead slug." Katniss scowled at him again. "Do you depend on him?"

She chewed on the inside of her lip, rolling the soft skin between her teeth. She didn't rely on him to survive, he only kept her company, really. Katniss knew how to take care of herself without anyone's help.

But that didn't explain the dreams. The peaceful meadow that was safe and warm, where he sat with her when Prim had faded away. He had become something important to her. Something she couldn't express. He gave her a reason to stay.

That wasn't Peeta though. It was the idea of him. He represented something to her that she didn't understand.

"How would you define love?" Haymitch said, and Katniss realized that she never answered the first question.

"I wouldn't," she answered quickly.

"What about intimacy?"

Katniss's eyes widened and she laughed to alleviate the awkwardness she felt. "Did they not teach you that in health class?" she said.

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "So it's entirely physical?"

She felt stupid. She tried to backtrack. But wasn't that what intimacy was? She narrowed her eyes. "What are you getting at?"

"Does the boy know you were in jail?"

"No."

"Foster care?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She looked away and tapped her finger against the cloth on her armrest. "It hasn't come up."

"Do you think he'll care?"

She thought back to the coffee shop, when he'd asked an innocent question and her first instinct had been to lie. It would have been avoidable with a simple "yes" or "no" answer, but she wanted to talk about her family. She wanted to feel normal. Peeta made her feel normal and she didn't want to lose that.

She didn't know how Peeta would react to how truly broken and alone she was, that she could count on one hand the important people in her life. He'd look at her differently. He'd be disappointed. He wouldn't stay.

That was how it worked.

She panicked.

"Session's over."

The sound of Haymitch's voice brought her mind back to the room. She looked around, feeling fazed, then nodded.

"See you next Tuesday," she mumbled, and stood on her uneasy feet to slip through the door.

"Thursday," he corrected. She nodded.

The drive back to P.I.T. was quiet, and when she returned to the computer lab, she didn't look at any of the assignments that Plutarch had left on her desk. Instead, she opened the Capitol University residence directory, searching through the tabs until she found Peeta's dormitory.

It was nearly dark when she reached the Capitol Campus, but she could still make out the slate gray roofs on the brick dormitories above the glow of the old fashioned street lamps. The white trim around the doors and windows was crisp, as if it had been regularly polished, and Katniss imagined there was an entire fleet of workers dedicated to maintaining the clean, pristine facade.

She read the names off the buildings until she found the one that she was looking for. The entrances required a key card to access, but there were enough students filtering through the doors to pass through without event.

Each room along the narrow hallway was labeled with a number, the name of the resident, and a white board for messages. Katniss scanned each name plaque, climbing two flights of staircases before she stumbled upon the door with Peeta's name on it.

Hesitating to knock, she tried her best to calm her nerves. She couldn't.

She didn't have a plan, she didn't even know what she was doing there. What she had with Peeta was still new and confusing. It was the only thing in her life that was untainted. So much that was good had already been taken away from her. She had to protect it.

Her fist connected with the door and it began to creak open.

"Katniss?" Peeta appeared on the other side, his eyebrows lifting in surprise over the rim of his glasses. He coiffed his blond curls on top of his head when he swiped his hand through his hair. He looked tired, and she admonished herself for interrupting him. "What are you doing here?" he asked with an easy grin.

She couldn't answer. Instead she rolled forward onto her toes, and pressed her lips against his urgently. He stumbled back a few steps, stunned, and she followed every step so that their mouths never broke contact. His lips were still beneath hers, but then she felt his jaw slacken and his tongue eagerly sweep passed the seam of her mouth to touch to hers. His fingers weaved into her braid, settling at the nape of her neck to tilt her head back and deepen the kiss.

It should have made her feel better, but it didn't.

She reached blindly for his belt buckle and began to unfasten it with deft fingers. The suede smelled like salt, and was slick from an oily finish, making it difficult to unbuckle. After she freed the ends, she frantically moved to the button on his jeans.

His hands covered hers, and when he broke their kiss, he let out a nervous laugh.

"Woah, there," he said. "What are you doing?"

Her lips felt swollen and her breath was shallow. She couldn't look at him. The tone is his voice made her feel mortified. "Don't you want me?" she said, sounding smaller than she wanted to.

"I do," he said, tugging on the end of what was left of her braid. It didn't offer her any relief. "Believe me I do. It's just, this is moving really fast. Ten seconds ago we hadn't even kissed – and now? I didn't think this was like that."

"Like what?" she snapped back, feeling defensive.

"I want this to mean something," he said.

Air escaped from her lungs as if she'd been struck. She felt like nothing. She was nothing.

"Katniss, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," she said tightly, snatching her arm away when he reached out to comfort her. She turned towards the door. "I should go," she mumbled.

"Don't leave," he followed on her heels, placing his hand on the door to prevent her from opening it. "Is everything okay?"

She felt weak. She hated feeling weak. A fire ignited, burning her insecurities away. Or maybe it fueled them.

"You think you're so much better than me," she said harshly, her gray eyes unable to lift from where they were focused on the floor.

"What are you talking about?" he sounded incredulous, as if the idea were absurd.

"What gives you the right to tell me what I want? Or what I need?"

"That's not what I meant." He sighed and rested his head against the wall behind him. "If I kiss you right now or sleep with you, it's not going to make your problems go away. They'll keep on building until you're left with a whole lot of regret."

She glared at him. She didn't need for him to tell her how she felt, or what she'd regret. It was insulting. At this point she didn't have any regrets. They were too much trouble to hold onto.

"Stop being patronizing," she said. "If you don't want to be with me that's fine, but don't pretend it's for my greater good."

"I meant something I'd regret," he said. He backed away from the door and moved to the other side of the room. "This doesn't feel right, okay?"

The words echoed in her ears. She was right to lie because her fears were correct. Peeta didn't want the damaged Katniss. He saw her as toxic and dirty and worthless. He was like everyone else. She hated him for it.

"I'm sure you feel so noble to have put me in my place. But I don't need a white knight to protect me so you can get off your high horse," she spat, nearly spitting in his face.

"No you get off!" Katniss found the breaking point of Peeta's temper. His jaw was set rigidly and he tugged at his curls in frustration. "You can't storm in here demanding I fuck you, when you're obviously hung up on something, and then turn it on me. It doesn't work like that. You can't use me Katniss, I'm not going to let you."

"You think I need you?" she shouted. "Because I don't! I take care of myself, and I don't need my fucking family to buy my way through life. You're fucking nothing!" She shoved against his chest and he fell back a step, brushing her hands away. "You know that?"

"Katniss, stop," he said and it made her even more furious.

She had invested so much faith in him. She had started to depend on him, and he disappointed her.

"You're nothing!" She shoved him harder this time.

"Katniss," he warned, holding up his arms to shield himself from her attack. He turned his head away and clenched his jaw, his stone faced expression one she had never seen on him before. It was like he was numb to her insults. It made her angry. She wanted to hurt him.

"You hear that Golden Boy? You're worthless," she sneered, and as she drew her body back to shove against him again, she saw his stance transform entirely. His eyes were wild, the blue rings swallowed fully by the darkness of his pupils. His hands shook at his sides, flexing into and out of fists. It was as if he was daring her to play with fire. She did, throwing her full weight against him.

"Enough," he shouted. He caught her wrists in each hand when she moved to strike him, his grip tightening until she couldn't feel her fingers. She howled at the pain and her knees buckled, but his hold on her wrists kept her from falling to the ground. She thrashed against him, fighting to get free, but he was stronger than her. So much stronger than her.

Peeta froze suddenly. The color drained from his face and his hands slackened, allowing for Katniss to collapse on the floor. He was breathing hard, like he'd just run ten miles, and he braced himself on the back of his desk chair, gripping the wrung so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Katniss imagined that grip, locked around her wrists. They throbbed with pain. Red and raw from the friction of his skin against hers. She stumbled back on her hands and feet to hurry towards the door.

"Katniss, wait," Peeta said, and she could recognize his voice again. Soft. Gentle. Peeta. "I'm sorry."

He looked horrified, and she wondered if she hallucinated the last five minutes. Who was that man before? He was a twisted, crazed animal. She felt the soreness in her wrists and backed away to reach for the doorknob. She ran down the corridor without looking back, out into the darkness of the campus, and through the crowds of students that filled the sidewalk. She didn't stop running until she reached the subway station, and even then she paced the platform, unable to stay still.

What had she done?

The physics building at P.I.T. was still bustling with life in the downstairs commons, but up in the research lab, where her work station was located, it was quiet and empty.

Katniss tossed her jacket over the back of her chair and collapsed against it. Every limb in her body felt broken. She felt useless. Looking down at her hands, she noticed dark rings already forming around her wrists. There would be bruises in the morning, ones that would haunt her for her stupidity for days to come. Just like every other scar that hadn't quite faded.

Her sleeves were too short to cover her arms, and the hair ties around her wrists wouldn't cover the wounds as well as they normally would. She reached for her jacket and wrapped herself in it. It was too warm for a coat though, and she felt like she was suffocating.

It was just the coat, she told herself.

Her mind was trapped in Peeta's room. She was upset. She made him upset. That wasn't Peeta though. Who was it?

She reached for the physics textbook that Plutarch had given her and slid it into her lap. The words on the pages may as well have been in a different language, but she continued to read each chapter. If she let her mind rest, it would dwell on Peeta, and she didn't want to think of that. She didn't want that Peeta. She wanted the Peeta she met in the meadow, the one who comforted her in her sleep.

Was the Peeta in her head as real as the Katniss she presented to him?

She closed the book and tossed it aside. On the far corner of her desk was Haymitch's book. The cover stared back at her, mocking her. Haymitch knew this would happen to her. How did he know?

She reached for the book, keeping it at an arm's length, and hesitantly flipped it open to peer at the pages, as if it contained the answers she needed.

The electronic lock beeped from outside the room, and she looked up to see that Effie had entered. Her suit jacket and skirt were still perfectly pressed after a full day of wear, and even though the work day had long ended, she was still in her patent pumps, instead of tennis shoe, like many faculty members changed into to stay comfortable. She held a mug in one hand and a Styrofoam cup in the other. Steam flowed over the edge of each rim.

"Katniss? What are you still doing here? It's late."

Katniss picked up Plutarch's book again to look busy.

"You don't have to work through the night," Effie said, sounding concerned. "There will be plenty of time tomorrow."

Katniss idly flipped the page. Night and day made no difference to her. She certainly wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

"Are you all right?" Effie asked. She took a few steps closer, and Katniss turned her chair so that her back was to her. "Katniss," she said gently, "go home."

"I'd rather keep working," she said tersely. "This is more important than you understand."

Effie's grin faltered. "Okay." She didn't move to leave, instead balanced the cups in her hands. "I made some hot chocolate, but I must have set the machine wrong, because it gave me two." She extended the Styrofoam cup to her.

"There are pictures on the buttons," Katniss said flatly. "They say the sizes too, it's pretty hard to screw up."

"Tired eyes, I suppose," Effie reasoned. "Caffeine doesn't keep me awake anymore, only sugar."

Katniss didn't accept the cup, but she didn't stop Effie either when she sat it on the edge of her desk. "You shouldn't depend on substances to avoid sleep," she said. She looked at the Hot Chocolate and then back at her book.

"It's a nasty habit," she agreed. She curled her lips to blow the steam off the surface of the hot liquid. "I'll be leaving soon, could I drive you home?"

"No thanks," Katniss said, and flipped to another page.

"Katniss, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here to listen."

She lifted her eyes with disinterest. "I talk to my therapist," she said.

"Some things are easier to talk about with a woman," Effie said carefully.

Katniss narrowed her gaze. A woman? She laughed. The only feminine influence in her life was her mother. She was weak, she had failed her. "I don't need help from someone who can't operate an espresso machine," she said coldly.

Effie's eyes widened and she nodded politely. "All right," she said, stepping towards the door with resolve. "The offer still stands," she said, and then she was gone.

Katniss chewed on the inside of her lips as she stared at the cup of hot chocolate in front of her. The steam whittled to a softer vapor, cool enough to bring to her lips without burning. It was sweet and warm. For a moment the pressure in her chest didn't feel so impossibly heavy. She tipped back the cup and drank the rest.

When it was gone she felt empty again.

She set Plutarch's book on her desk, reading through the chapters until she reached the end.


	5. Miss Guided

Katniss didn't realize it was morning until the primary florescent lights flickered to life in the hallway outside of the research lab. The room was in the center of the building, and the only windows were interior, overlooking the hallway and atrium, instead of the early morning sun.

Her neck was sore from leaning over her book, and her eyes felt tired, even though her mind was wide awake.

Something began to buzz in her pocket, rattling the seat of her chair with an intrusive hum. Her breath quickened, and she sat up, alert, bracing herself against the edge of her desk. It was her phone, she realized, letting out a relieved sigh. Fishing it from her pocket, she clicked the screen to life.

There were several missed calls – all from Peeta, mixed with a series of text messages – also from him. Her lips creased into a frown as she scrolled through the alerts, wondering how she hadn't noticed the vibrations earlier. It didn't matter though, she still probably wouldn't have answered.

She opened the most recent text:

_Can we talk? Please?_

She stared at the words on the screen until the letters blurred together into nothing and the light on the screen went blank.

The lock on the door beeped and then clicked, opening to a handful of research assistants who scattered to their workbenches, filling the room with idle typing and soft chatter.

Katniss tucked her chair closer to her desk, folding her arms around herself in an attempt to become invisible. She always felt out of place around the other assistants, but in this moment, the contrast was excruciating. Her hair was matted around her tired face and her clothes were rumpled from being slept in. She looked almost savage amongst them. Who was she kidding? She was.

Although nobody looked up to acknowledge her, she felt judged, and she couldn't sit there a moment longer. She scooped her books from her desk hastily and hurried towards the door. It was too early for the halls to be crowded, and those who were around were in class, yet Katniss kept her head bowed, feeling as if a thousand eyes were watching her.

She wore her shame, broadcasting for the world to see. She was dirty, broken, and the dark purple rings around her wrists were the chains she bore. Memories from the night before flooded her mind, so vivid that she wondered if any of it had actually happened.

Her phone buzzed again and she powered it off before boarding the bus that would take her back to her row house.

Light flooded through every window of her small house, leaving each room brighter than she had ever seen. She shielded her eyes to abate the blinding glare, and pulled down the heavy shades until she was shrouded in the comfort of darkness.

Not even bothering to remove her jacket or shoes, she crawled into her bed and wrapped herself in her clean, warm comforter. She didn't want to deal with all the chaos she'd started outside of her door. She was safer there.

Hours passed. The dim light peeking around the shades darkening to night and then morning again. She was lost in time, laying completely still, where she would do the least damage. At some point there was a loud knock at her door, followed by the shrill call of Effie Trinket, which reverberated through the thin walls. She was persistent for nearly an hour, but even Effie's stubbornness couldn't withstand Katniss's complete resignation.

It must have been Thursday, time for her session with Haymitch.

She rolled onto her back to let out a strangled laugh, close to a cry. Haymitch was the last person she wanted to see. He had been right about her all along, and she hated him for it. Her fingers curled into fists and the corners of her eyes stung with the tears that crept past her eyelids.

No. She would not be facing Haymitch's righteous smirk. She'd avoid him forever if possible. Even if it meant going back to prison. She never thought the little social experiment that Cinna and Plutarch had thought up was going to work in the first place.

She lifted her comforter over her face and waited for sleep to take her again, but it never came.

Cinna would be disappointed in her. He probably expected this of her. She hated him now too. And Effie, and Plutarch, and Peeta. Especially Peeta.

She wanted to forget about them all, to pretend that the past few weeks didn't exist.

She reached for her phone and powered it back to life. Ignoring, the missed calls, she dialed Gale's familiar number.

“You busy?” she said, skipping the usual pleasantries.

“Rory and Thom are still arguing over the evening's activities,” he replied with a gruff chuckle. “How about you Professor Everdeen? You busy writing your Nobel Prize speech or some shit?”

“Hardly.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes scanning her bare walls. “Let's get wasted,” she said abruptly.

Gale laughed again. “The Hob?”

She frowned. She doubted Peeta would go there again, but it was a possibility, especially if he was looking for her, as the 20 unanswered messages waiting on her phone implied.

“Not there,” she said a bit too eagerly. “Got anything at your place? We can get loaded and watch Rory and Thom play human pinata.”

“The Coors is already cold, stop by whenever you'd like.”

Katniss groaned when she tried to stand.  She'd been in bed for two days straight now, and her muscles ached from neglect.  She willed herself to take a shower and change, but only stood unsteadily at the bathroom vanity splashing cold water on her face and up her arms.

Her wrists were a splotchy purple that was tender when she touched them.  She opened the drawer beneath the sink and gathered a handful of thick rubber hair ties, rolling them over her hands one by one to wear like bracelets over her bruises.  She flinched when she snapped the last one into place, then held out her hands to inspect them.

Her wounds were completely hidden, as if they were never there.  She liked it better that way. She left her house, locking the door behind her.

She could hear shouting from Gale's house as she approached from the far side of the street, and his driveway was densely packed with cars.  A few guys had already resorted to stripping off their shirts and were wrestling for a crowd of people in the front yard.  This usually happened when the Hawthorne boys decided to stay in.  Rory would put out word and soon the entire neighborhood came flocking.

Katniss debated turning around.  She wasn't in the mood for a crowd, especially one so rowdy.  All she really wanted to do was disappear into a couch with a case of Coors.

She lingered on the outskirts of the lawn, observing it quietly from a far.

"Catnip, is that you out there?" Gale called from the front porch.  He opened up the screen door, which wobbled on its rusted hinges.  His hand came up to cover his brow so he could see her through the darkness.

She waved back before quickly tucking her hand back into her jacket pocket.  Gale recognized her hesitation instantly, and hopped down the concrete steps to join her at the sidewalk.  He handed her a beer.

"Way to show up late to your own party."

She lifted a brow.  "Oh, was this for me?"

He shook his head with a chuckle.  "Nah, Rory just doesn't know to keep his mouth shut.  Sorry about this.  I know you love to be the life of the party."

"It's okay."  She accepted the beer he extended to her and cracked open the tab.  "How many of these do you have packed in your pockets?" she asked before taking a large swig of the sour liquid.

Gale tapped the lumps in his cargo shorts.  "Five or six."

"That's a start," she said and drained the rest of the can.  He handed her another one.

"Haven't seen you around much lately.  Figured you'd forgotten about all us little people, now that you were some crazy genius."

"I've been busy," she mumbled over the lip of her beer.  She licked her lips and toed the empty can she'd dropped on the sidewalk.  "But I'm not anymore.  I think I'm going to quit... or get fired... whichever comes first."

There was a tense silence that swelled between them, and Katniss tried to ignore it, sipping from her drink to numb her senses.

After a long moment, Gale finally said, "I thought that was the only thing keeping you out of jail."

She shrugged.

He looked at her carefully, his lips pressing together tightly as he skated around what she knew he would say.  "How's therapy?"

"Another waste of time."  She dropped the second empty can and crushed it beneath her boot.  "I don't think I'm going anymore."

"Katniss..." he said, his tone warning.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, then held her hand out for another beer.  He pulled another from his pocket and handed it to her reluctantly.

He shook his head, and Katniss mentally added him to her list of people she'd disappointed.

"You're just going to go back to prison?"

Katniss stared at the can beneath her boot and applied more pressure until it was nearly flush with the pavement beneath it.  "I could use the vacation."

"Fuck that, Katniss.  I'm not going to watch you pull this shit again."

She lifted her red rimmed eyes, leveling him with a fiery glare.

"I'm not built for that lifestyle," she said.  "It's not me."  She tipped her beer to empty some of it onto the brown grass.  "Let's not try to fool anyone.  This is what my life is," she said, nodding towards the party, which had now gathered around a card table where they were playing drinking games.

"That's bullshit and you know it."  Gale pulled another beer from his pocket and turned it in his hands to read the label.  "You're a million times smarter than all of those assholes combined."

"Not you too," she spat, rolling her eyes.  "Don't give me that crap.  Everyone's been deluded into thinking there's something special about me.  Something worth saving, but they're wrong."

She thought of Peeta and the way his eyes sparkled the first time they met.  It made her feel less hopeless, like maybe she could change.  She wondered how he'd look at her now.

"And when they realize that, they'll be gone, just like everybody else."

She felt Gale's hand close around her shoulder and she flinched at the contact.  He pulled her against his chest and she didn't struggle when he wrapped his arms around her.  It wasn't until then that she realized she was crying again.  She shut her eyes tightly, willing the tears away.

"I'm not going anywhere," he mumbled into her hair.

She sighed, hoping she'd find relief, but didn't.  "I know," she said.

"And I'm not going to tell you what to do.  I know you'll never listen anyway.  I just think it's shitty that you're letting her win."

She blinked, tipping her head back to meet his eye.  "Who?"

"You."  Gale released her and took a step back.  "This is what you do, Katniss.  When things don't go your way you shut down."  The words stung, hanging heavily in the air between them.  "Sometimes I wish you could just get over it," he said, and immediately she could see the regret in his eye.

She wanted to be angry with him, but she hated that part of herself too.  It reminded her too much like her mother.  She didn't want to be like her.

"It's not that easy," she said.

Gale let out a tired sigh and nodded.  Shoving his hands into his pockets he began to back away towards the party.  "You want another beer?" he asked.

"I think I'm going to head home," she said, bouncing anxiously on her heels.  Suddenly she felt out of place, even here.

Gale didn't try to stop her, but she could feel his eyes watching her as she rounded the block.

She walked briskly up the roads that lead to her row house, bypassing the bus stop that would bring her there more quickly.  The burning air in her lungs felt good.  It fueled her until it was difficult to breathe.

When she returned to her house, again, she wasn't tired.  She sat at the foot of her bed, staring at the books scattered across the floor.  There were still some notes she could make on the Solid State Physics text that Plutarch had passed on to her.  Even if she decided to bow out of the project, it would be a waste not to at least write down some of her findings.

She reached for the book, but froze, her hand lingering in the air when she spotted Haymitch's book tucked behind it.  She lifted Plutarch's book, holding it at arms length for a brief moment before setting it aside if favor of Haymitch's book.

A self help book.  She wanted to laugh at the idea.  But she wanted to know how someone could do it.  Help themselves.  She didn't even know where to start.

She flipped through the first few blank page to the dedication page that only read: "Too late."

It was oddly Haymitch like, but at the same time too haunting, too profound.  She didn't understand how two simple words could affect her so much.

The book was different from what she had expected.  She thought it would be instructional.  A step by step guide to fixing her life, or maybe a few sloppy cocktail recipes for self medicating, but instead it read as a story.

It followed a character, only referred to as the hero, who found himself trapped in an arena with 47 other prisoners. The rules of the game were simple. In order to escape, he had to be the last competitor standing.

The arena was completely isolated from civilization, and the only tools provided for survival, came from the bountiful harvest of a golden cornucopia located at the arena's center. The beginning was a blood bath, and half the competitors were wiped out within the first hour.

Things changed as the game went on. Contestants began to align, forming their own tribes to hunt the weaker competitors and extend their survival, but the hero remained alone. He understood the means end of the competition. As the numbers dwindled, there would be no such thing as an ally.

Instead, he took to the woods, building a shelter and fire deep in the protection of the forest. There was a stream nearby that provided him water, but he had no means of finding food. The plants weren't any that he recognized, and all of his attempts to hunt ended in failure. The hero was stubborn though, and attempted to teach himself these skills through trial and error, but the exertion only left him hungrier and too weak to fight back when cornered by the remaining pack.

It was only when another outlying competitor came to his aide that the hero was able to live another day. She excelled at the things the hero lacked in, but she was tired and cold, having no means to build safe shelter. The hero was reluctant to befriend her, but now understood he could not survive without an ally. Still, he remained weary of her.

When only a few contestants remained, his ally became antsy. They could no longer hide if they wanted the game to end. They had to find the upper ground. The hero didn't want to leave the safety of the woods though, he would rather stay in a place he was familiar with.  He had to trust her to survive, and so, he agreed to follow her when she took to explore the rest of the arena.

They came across the edge, which was a boundary that repelled whatever touched it with equal and opposite force.  There was a seam in the force field, the hero found, and when he ran his spear against it, it made a rip in the fabric.  It was an escape.

The hero did not tell his ally though.  He had grown used to his life in the arena, and was afraid what was outside of its walls.  Instead he decided to return to camp, where he was safe.

They didn't make it far, and were cornered by the last member of the dominate pack.  His ally's throat was slit before the hero saw the enemy, and the hero was pushed to the edge of the force field, weaponless and alone.

His opponent hurled his knife towards the hero, and the hero ducked before it could strike him, allowing it to repel against the force field and impale the final contestant.

The hero was the winner and was now free.  But he couldn't leave the arena, even when the force fields opened.  He returned to the woods and remained in isolation through the rest of his days.

Katniss wondered what Haymitch's arena was.  She didn't know much about him at all, besides that he was a surly drunk and part time therapist.  But there was something about his story that felt familiar to her, it made her curious.

Through the heavy window shades in her bedroom, she could see that it was morning.  It had been two days since she had been to work, and Plutarch was probably furious with her.  It would be reasonable enough to pretend she was sick for a few days, but she wasn't ready to go back to work.  She wanted to see Haymitch.

She climbed out of bed and moved to the kitchen, where she had the Panem Country transit maps stored in a drawer.  She unfolded the worn paper and smoothed it flat over the small Formica counter top.  Locating the intersection of her apartment, she followed the bus lines and train stations that would take her to Haymitch's side of town.  The map ended at the Beltway though, and Katniss knew his office building was at least 3 exits off the highway that split from it.

It wouldn't be an impossible walk, but it wouldn't be pleasant either.  She laced up her boots, cringing at the weathered soles, which wouldn't stand much more use.  Her phone was perched on the corner of her mattress and she looked at it, tempted.  Gale wouldn't be able to drive her because he was already at work, but Effie would take her.

Katniss scowled.  The last thing she wanted to do was ask Effie for help.

She lifted the phone and scrolled through the contact list.  If Effie thought that Katniss was opening up to her, she'd probably stand up to Plutarch when he tried to have her fired.  That, of course, depended on whether Katniss was even trying to keep her job.  She didn't see why not.  The research interested her, and if she was going to make an effort to see Haymitch, there was no reason not to uphold all the conditions of her release.

She slipped her phone in her pocket and hurried towards the door.  The bus on the P.I.T. line was pulling up just as she reached the sidewalk.  She flashed her employee ID and climbed down the aisle to an empty row of seats.

It was 7AM when she got there, but Effie was already behind her desk, typing something on her keyboard at a perfect 95 words per minute.  Katniss stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of how to address her.  She began to tap lightly on the door frame.

Effie's eyebrows lifted in acknowledgment, but she continued to type a few more words, her fingers moving furiously across the keys before stilling.

Her eyes widened when she recognized that Katniss was her visitor.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.  She pushed back from her desk and stood tall on her stilettos.  "I tried to call a hundred times, and there was no one at the address you have on file, do you even live there?"

Katniss braced herself to be reprimanded, standing numbly with a cowering nod.

"Katniss, you are under my and Doctor Heavensbee's care.  We are responsible for you, and this type of behavior reflects poorly on us."

"I was sick," she mumbled, and when the words tumbled out of her mouth it didn't seem like a lie.

Effie faltered in her anger, and she lowered her voice to something more gentle.  "Call next time, please."  She sat down and returned to her typing.

But Katniss wasn't finished.  She locked her fingers together tightly and stared intensely at her hands.  "What about the session I missed?"

Effie looked up from her monitor.  "You can make it up on Tuesday," she said dismissively.

That was four days away.  Katniss couldn't wait that long.  She'd change her mind before then and never look back.  "I really need to see him," she said, unable to hide the desperation in her voice.

Effie stopped typing again, her gaze lingering on Katniss with quiet contemplation before she looked at the thin gold watch around her wrist.  "He won't be up at this hour," she said, her frown genuine.  She shuffled around a few things on her desk then picked up her large purse.  "We can get breakfast first, have you eaten?"

She hadn't, and as if on cue, her stomach growled ravenously.

Effie took her to a cafe on campus, and Katniss feasted on a large stack of pancakes, a plate overflowing with scrambled eggs, and six strips of bacon, while Effie nibbled delicately on a small fruit cup.  Katniss emptied her orange juice in two large gulps, sending a stream of orange dribble down her chin.  She swiped the back of her sleeve across her face, causing Effie to grimace and clear her throat.  It made her feel embarrassed, and Katniss bowed her head sheepishly, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with the napkin she'd neglected.

At 9:30 they pulled into Haymitch's building.  There weren't any classes on Friday and it was nearly abandoned.  Katniss pushed open his office door with a strangled creak.

"You're late," Haymitch said, looking up from his cluttered desk.  He seemed to look her over for a moment, a somewhat pleasant grin creasing his mouth. “Has anyone told you that you look lovely today?”

Katniss eyed him skeptically, her scowl deepening at his cheerfulness. “No, why?” she said after a moment.

“Good,” he said. “Because if they did, they're lying.”

She traced the deep purple rings that circled her eyes, evidence of the sleep that had eluded her the nights before. She'd showered and combed her hair at least, which was a start.

“Trouble with the boy?” he said, and he didn't look amused anymore.

Peeta.  Why had she felt compelled to tell Haymitch about him.  Things were better when she kept Peeta to herself.  

She sat in the chair across from Haymitch's desk.  “He's not who I thought he was.” She looked at her hands in her lap. The bruises on her wrists were hidden beneath her jacket sleeves, but she could still see them. She didn't want to see them.

“That's unfortunate, since you've been so honest with him,” Haymitch said wryly.

Katniss glared at him, her jaw setting defiantly.  She couldn't get sidetracked.  "I read your book,” she said.

"Really?  About time someone did."

"What was the arena?" she asked, straight to the point.

Haymitch tapped his fingers against his desk with a smirk.  "You're supposed to figure that out on your own.  Hence the self help."  He flipped open her file, glancing it at it briefly.  "Is Finch Street east of 12th Avenue?"

That was her address.  She nodded.

"I grew up on Branta."

Katniss recognized the street, it was a few blocks north of hers, with the same type of dilapidated row houses.

"Sae still behind  the bar over at the Hob?"

"Best mystery stew in town," she said, with a faint laugh.  She narrowed her eyes curiously, leaning forward in her chair slightly.  "Were you... in the system too?"

"Sorry sweetheart," he said, closing her file, "my parents managed to hang on to me."

She slumped her shoulders, deflated.  She wasn't sure why she felt disappointed by this.  "It's just... your book."

"What did you think the book was about?"

She thought about the story again.  The hero alone in the woods.  It sounded nice.  She ran her fingers along the lacquered arm rest.  The grain of the wood looked like pine, the kind that surrounded her father's cabin in the forest.  He'd gather pine needles and cinnamon sticks and make them tea in the winter.  None of it was real though, she had to let it go. She didn't know how.

"Who's the ally?" she asked.

"Effie tells me you haven't been showing up to work."

"I asked you a question," she said stubbornly. She needed to know.

"And I'm talking about something else.  Keep up," he said, snapping his finger.

"I wasn't feeling well," she mumbled.

"Sure you weren't."

Katniss bit her lip and turned her attention to the hem of her jacket, there was a patch that was slightly frayed and she rolled it under to hide it. It was quiet for a while.

"For someone who couldn't wait until Tuesday, you're awfully talkative."  Haymitch forced open the bottom drawer of his desk and fixed himself a drink.  He finished it in one sip and poured a second.  "You said something about the boy."

"We're not seeing each other anymore."

“He go running?"

She turned her eyes at him with a piercing glare.  "I took preemptive measures."

"How noble."  He tipped back the second drink then set his glass aside.  

“I thought he was different, but he wasn't,” she said. She had tainted and ruined him, just like everyone else.

"You seem to spend a lot of time worrying about how other people will judge you.  You ever wonder if maybe you're guilty of the same thing?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Haymitch sighed tiredly and leaned his elbows against his desk.  "I realize life has dealt you a shitty hand.  Nobody's going to challenge that.  The question is, are you ready to grow past it?"

She eyed the bottle of whiskey on his desk.  "Have you?"

"You don't want to end up like me."

"Aren't you supposed to be my mentor? Why am I even listening to you?"

He dropped the bottle back into the drawer and shut it.  "I hope you're not," he said.

Her eyes lingered on the drawer.  "A guy finds a girl who makes him less miserable and then he screws it up," she said.  "That's what your book is about."

"Sounds like someone's projecting," he said.

"Peeta and I had an argument," she said carefully.  "Things got kind of ugly."

"Do you know what you were upset about?"  She shook her head.  "Do you know what he was upset about?"  She shook her head again.  "Then you should both figure it out.  It's called empathy."

“You're a shining example,” she said icily.

Haymitch looked down at her wrists, her sleeves had rolled up slightly, revealing the thick hair ties that covered them.  She pulled down her sleeves hastily.

"Anything else you want to talk about?" he said.  The concern in his voice made her nervous, and she started to panic.  If she told him about what had happened with Peeta, he'd tell her not to see him anymore.  He'd take him away. She didn't want him to.

She tucked her hands beneath her thighs and shook her head.

"Okay," he said, but there was still suspicion in his eye.  He glanced at the clock.  "Time's up."

She was relieved to escape his questioning, and hurried towards the door.

"The ally isn't just one person," he said before she could leave.  "There are other people out there that want to see you succeed.  Don't ask me why."

Katniss felt numb at the words, but she couldn't deny them.  There were all these opportunities speeding past her that she had never experienced before.  She didn't know how to react to them all.  She had no idea of how to break out of her force field.

She went downstairs, where Effie was waiting in her car.

"Here," Effie said, and pushed an envelope into her hand.

Katniss pulled the car door behind her and buckled her seat belt.  "What is this?" 

She read the P.I.T. address stamped on the corner, and immediately felt dread.  It was probably her pink slip for ducking out of work without notice. 

"It's your paycheck.  They're distributed on Thursdays, and you hadn't set up your direct deposit, so it came to my office."

Katniss's fingers cut through the envelope flap in record time, and she frantically unfolded the pay stub.  $600.  She had never seen so much money in her life.

"It's your weekly stipend," Effie elaborated.  "There's an honor system.  We assume you put in the 40 hours of work, and we don't ask questions when you don't show up for three days."

The relief Katniss felt was quickly ebbed as she read over the printing on the paper.  The check was a piece of paper.  What was she supposed to do with a piece of paper?

"I was hoping for cash," she grimaced

Effie laughed.  "We can't pay you that way!  All that money lying around, you couldn't keep track of it.  We'll take you to the bank and you can cash it there."

She felt ashamed.  "I don't have a bank account," she said lowly.

Effie blinked, her perplexed expression softening into recognition.  "We'll go to the grocery store then," she said, her voice more gentle.  "I think they cash them there."

Katniss shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked out the window.  "Can we buy shoes too?" she said, slipping her feet further beneath the dashboard so that Effie couldn't see the condition of her boots.

Effie hesitated for a moment.  Perhaps she was stunned at Katniss's request, but soon a warm smile was slanting her perfectly painted lips.  "Of course," she said.

They pulled into the closest supermarket parking lot, and Katniss watched in awe as the register attendant counted out a thick stack of $20 bills.  She carded her fingers through it, letting it fan the scent of ink and paper against her nose.  She bought 5 candy bars at the checkout counter, just because she could, savoring each one in the car as they drove to a low end department store.

There were too many shoes to count, and Katniss felt overwhelmed by the never ending sea of aisles.  She flipped over a digital price tag beneath a pair and gasped at the cost.  She couldn't spend $70 on shoes, even with the $600 burning in her pocket.  Frantically, she flipped over a few more price tags, hoping to find something cheaper.

"Here," Effie said, guiding her to the clearance rack.  She held up a pair of boots that were similar to the ones she was wearing.  They were obviously fake leather, except unlike hers, these had a zipper running up the insole.  "They're a little out of season," Effie said with a slight grimace, before extending them to Katniss.  "But still, good as new."

Katniss slipped them on.  They were a half a size too big, but she could wear two pairs of socks to make them fit more snug, and according to the sticker on the bottom, they were only $15.

"Thank you," Katniss said, allowing herself to smile.

Effie helped her pick out a pair of sneakers and nice looking loafers to wear to work too.  Then a few pairs of jeans that actually fit, some dress pants, and blouses that flattered her shape.  Katniss couldn't remember the last time she bought clothing new, and she reveled in the soft feel of the fabric, reaching out to touch every rack they passed.

Effie was a professional at this.  She had an eye for what would fit Katniss best, and would rattle off all the discount percentages, stacking up multiple deals so the clothing cost almost nothing at all.  Katniss was in awe of her talents, and didn't even protest when she slipped some undergarments into the cart with a wink.  She left the store with two large shopping bags and only $150 missing from her pocket.

"We can set up a bank account for you next week, if you'd like," Effie said, as she drove Katniss back to her house.  "They'll give you a debit card too and you can take out the money whenever you need it."

Katniss nodded, but she didn't know what to say.  She was silent as they rolled up to her curb, and she could only flash Effie a grateful smile as she climbed out of the car.

Inside, she spread out each new piece of clothing across her mattress and ran her fingers across the material.  She wasn't ready to wear them yet.  They were too perfect to be soiled.  She folded them up into a neat pile and tucked them back in the shopping bags, which she placed in the corner of her bedroom.

She allowed herself to put on her new boots though, and she flexed her feet against the solid sole.  These would be comfortable to wear, and she could walk 100 miles in them without her arches getting sore.

She went outside to test them.  She would walk a few blocks in them until they were molded to her feet, she decided.  Then she'd stop at one of the alluring restaurants on the edge of town that always taunted her with their savory scent and she'd buy a hot meal.  That would be her reward for today.

But when she began her walk, her feet carried her past the row of restaurants, and past most of town, through the city and all the way to Capitol University, stopping right outside of Peeta's dorm.

She wanted to see him. She couldn't deny herself of that anymore.

Katniss sat perched on the back of a bench, her feet were sore from the new shoes and probably blistered beneath her socks.  She placed them on the seat of the bench and tucked her knees to her chest to let them rest.  It had been a long walk, and the sun had already crept behind the taller buildings of the Panem skyline, a brisk breeze sweeping by that caused her to shiver, and wrap her arms around her legs more tightly.

Her eyes lingered on the third row of windows of the James Merchant building.  She couldn't remember which room was Peeta's, but if her count of the windows was correct, it was the fourth one in.  Dark, with the window open a jar.

She wondered if he was in there.  If he was sleeping or hiding away from the world just as she had been.  She shook her head, moving to stand from the bench.  He probably wasn't even there.  All of this was a waste of time.

She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and followed the cobblestone path that led to the subway station, hurrying past a large crowd of students with her head bowed.

“Katniss?”

She glanced over her shoulder to inspect the crowd.  Her pace quickened when she spotted Peeta, already pushing through the throngs of people that filled the courtyard with activity.  He caught up with her quickly though, and she paused when he fell in step with her.

“Hey,” she nodded shortly.

“Hey,” he said. He grinned at her shyly, quickly dropping his gaze to the plush, green grass beneath his sneakers.  "What are you doing here?" He looked at her again, as if to be sure she was real.

She didn't know what to say.  She couldn't admit that she came to see him.  That sort of confession seemed too personal.  It wasn't something she was ready to share.

"I figured I'd never see you again," he said when she didn't answer.  "You've done a good job avoiding me."

"I needed some time."

He nodded.

It was quiet where they stood, even though the courtyard between the dorm buildings was still crowded with students returning from class.  Peeta scratched at his temple, his eyes lingering on her although she refused to look at him.

"I – um.  I just wanted to apologize for what happened the other night," he said.

Her eyes widened.  She didn't want to talk about or think about the other night. Not now. Yet here he was, discussing in front of anyone who passed by.

"I mean I like you, you like me, what's the big deal?"  He tried to mask the tension with an uncomfortable chuckle.  "I don't – I don't know why I flipped out about it."

He ran his hands through his hair roughly, and Katniss took the opportunity to glance at him quickly.  His eyes were red and unfocused, but he didn't look tired.  He was bouncing on his heels with this uncontainable energy that seemed to make his hands fidget constantly.  He was touching his hair, adjusting his glasses, rolling his sleeves up and down his forearm.  She wanted to still him, his anxiousness was becoming contagious.

"Maybe I do know why I flipped out, but it's not because of you, I swear – not that that's any sort of excuse, because there isn't one."

He was talking too quickly, it was making her nervous.  

“It was my fault,” she said suddenly, catching him off guard. “It was me. I screwed up. I don't...” she didn't know what to say. She kicked her boot against the seam of the lawn and walkway. “I can't explain.”

He blinked and took a few calming breaths, frowning deeply.

"Look," he said more slowly.  "Could we maybe go someplace?  To talk?"

Her eyes darted towards his bedroom window and she inadvertently touched the hidden bruises on her wrist.  She wasn't sure she was ready to go back there.

Peeta seemed to sense this, his features plagued with guilt, before his eyes turned frantic.  He probably thought she was ready to bolt again, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't thinking it.

"Have you eaten?  There's this pizza place... well more like a bowling alley – but it's the best pizza in town, I swear, and on Friday night's they have $2 pitchers of PBR, which is probably more than the regular price, come to think of it..."

Katniss thought of her conversation with Haymitch.  If she wanted to build any sort of meaningful relationship, she'd have to learn to empathize instead of immediately pass judgment.  Hadn't that been the reason she came to see him in the first place?  To figure things out.

"Okay," she said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me on tumblr at absnow. Much more Peeta to come, I promise.


	6. Miss Behave

The thunderous crashes from the bowling alley had faded into a Bruce Springsteen song, which played from a single square speaker balanced on the counter beside the register. Katniss could feel Peeta's foot tap the beat against the leg of the table as he chewed on his slice of pizza, and occasionally he'd mumble a few lyrics between bites. There was only one slice left on the metal tray between them, and at the rate they had devoured it, they'd need to order two whole pizzas to replace it.

Katniss filled her plastic cup with beer and took a sip, shielding her lips with her hand when they began to pucker. They'd run out of the PBR special on tap, giving them a pitcher of Blue Moon instead, a luxury, yes, but more sweetness than she was used to.

Peeta wiped his mouth with the wrinkled napkin balled up in his hand. "Have you eaten here before?" he asked.

She looked at the far wall, which was lined with stock head shots of celebrities with their printed signatures in the corner. Elvis Priestly had never been here. According to the sign outside, the place had opened in 1995.

"No," she said, and took another drink.

He finished his pizza and gestured for her to take the last slice.

"It's good, right?"

She smiled tightly as she slid the piece onto her paper plate. She wasn't a good judge, really. She'd probably eat anything.

Peeta pinched the lip of his empty plastic cup, flexing it until it broke apart, allowing him to form a rip down the side. He repeated this until there were several strips anchored from the bottom of the cup, then began to weave the ends into the base. Katniss watched him curiously as he methodically tucked one strip behind the other. When he was finished he slid it to her side of the table. "A flower for you," he said with a proud grin.

She inspected it carefully. It looked like a daisy, but it smelled like lavender and oranges. She nodded her approval, but remained silent.

"This is awkward, isn't it?" Peeta said, cringing slightly. He dropped his forehead to the table and tugged at his blonde curls in mild frustration. "I wish this wasn't weird."

She flashed a sympathetic smile. "Me too." She spun the flower around the table with her finger, then eyed the grease splotched paper plate in front of him. "What are you going to make me with the plate?"

He peered up at her, his chin still resting on the table. There was a questioning look in his eye. A sort of awe he always seemed to carry whenever he looked at her. She didn't deserve it, but she selfishly reveled in it.

"I'll think of something," he said, his gaze so intense that she had to look away. "Plates, napkins, straws, by the end of the night you'll have enough to start a recycled garden."

She bit her lip. "Not a bouquet?" she said timidly.

"They don't last long enough."

The neons shaped like bowling pins and lightening bolts reflected off his glasses, and although she could see his shy smile, she couldn't quite tell if it reached his eyes.

He laughed nervously. "I really, really like you Katniss," he said. His finger was tapping against the empty pizza pan and it vibrated with a metallic twang on the table. "I don't want to screw this up."

She reached out to still his hand from fidgeting. The contact was comforting though, and she allowed for her fingers to tangle with his and rest on the table between them. He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand gently in response.

"I never want to hurt you," he said solemnly. He looked down at her wrist and hooked his thumb beneath one of the elastic bands that hid the marks he'd left on her.

The guilt weighed heavily on her chest, making it hard to breathe. This was all her fault. She had broken him. "I shouldn't have pushed you," she said. She was upset about something else, and she shouldn't have taken it out on him. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Katniss..." he said. "There's something wrong with me. Something I should have told you."

She felt the blood rush to her ears. She didn't like where this was going. She wanted to stay here with the paper flowers and shy smiles.

"It's kind of hard to explain," he continued. "Sometimes I get these... episodes. And I thought I was better because it'd been so long, but something about the other night – I don't know. It triggered something."

She let her hand slip from his grasp and tucked it in her lap beneath the table. It was her. She was the problem.

His fingers flexed in her absence, and he cleared his throat, masking the hurt that flashed in his eyes. "It's been this way since I was a kid. Sometime in junior high, probably," he said. "It started off as this constant energy. My mind just wouldn't shut down – sometimes for weeks at a time. God, I must have been so annoying then. Not sleeping. Never shutting up. I did great in school that semester, at least. Mania beats Adderall hands down," he said with a misplaced chuckle. "Then I crashed. Hard. I, um, had this crazy breakdown my senior year, after I'd gotten early admissions into Capitol. My mother had me committed because of it."

"Committed?" she said, her eyes widening.

"She didn't know what to do with me," he said. "I was hallucinating these things that weren't there, I couldn't even tell you what was real from that time, the memories are mostly foggy... shiny, almost."

"Why would they send you away though?"

His blue eyes were wide and slightly wild when they met hers. "They were afraid I'd hurt them."

Katniss took his hand again and held onto it tightly, ignoring the faint ache in her wrist. She knew what it was like to be abandoned. She had spent years being kicked around homes that didn't want her. She wasn't going to leave him.

"Joke was on them, though, because as it turned out, I only wanted to hurt myself." He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. "I was in and out of the hospital for four months that year. Each time I'd get this handful of different colored pills, and they'd sit there and watch me. Observation they called it, but it felt like I was their lab rat. Too depressed. Too manic. Add some anti-psychotics for good measure."

 _What's wrong with you?_  The question lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed the words. She lowered her gaze, feeling ashamed.

"There's no exact diagnosis," he said, seeming to sense her curiosity. "Bipolar, probably, but it's not like cancer, there's no sure way to tack it down." His hands fidgeted for his beer, but he'd already broken down his cup. "Sorry, that's a lot to digest. It's just... I wanted you to know that it's my fault, really."

"How?"

He lifted the pitcher of beer off the table then lowered it, running his finger along the side to catch the dewy condensation. "The meds they have me on. They're mood stabilizers. They're supposed to keep me in neutral. Not numb or anything, just boxed in, if that makes any sense. I still felt happy and sad and scared and angry, only less of it, I guess. Until I met you."

She pulled her hands back into her lap and chanced a look at him, her breath catching at the wistful expression that softened his already round features.

"Like I said, I hadn't had an episode in years. Made it through undergrad and everything without a single all nighter. And because of that, I think I was probably getting a bit more lax in my treatment than I should have been. Mind over matter isn't exactly the best defense for a crazy person, but I was convinced hat I was still in control. And then I met you and it was like getting struck by lightening. Suddenly I felt like I was on top of the world. More alive than I'd ever been, and that was both exciting and terrifying, because I wasn't sure if it was the start of hypomania or if it was something else. So I went back on the medicine and I threw myself back into my routine and it all seemed to pass. And after, I thought that the lapse was behind me, but then you called, and I was losing control all over again."

"I'm sorry," she managed to say.

"No," he said eagerly, reaching out to take the hand that was hidden beneath the table and instead gripped air. "It wasn't anything you did. It was because I really liked you. I'm not blind. It's not like I've never noticed girls before. In fact, I've probably noticed about  _every_  girl. But noticing you was different, and I was having these feelings that were very confusing."

He picked up his napkin and began to shred it into long strips. His posture had changed entirely. Shoulders slumped with his chin tucked against his chest to shroud the deepening flush to his cheeks.

"I, um…" his eyes flickered to meet hers than darted away. "One of the symptoms of a manic episode is an increased sex drive, and, well, I was starting to feel very  _friendly_ towards you. I'd been thinking about – doing things. With you. A lot. And when you came onto me the other night, I could also tell that you were upset about something, but I couldn't really distinguish between what was real and what I was projecting. And then we were arguing and everything got away from me, and it triggered something and I couldn't get back to myself in time." He was shaking now, his breath ragged as if he were reliving the events. "I shouldn't have - I'm so sorry. I couldn't get back."

He shook himself from his daze and sat straight in his seat. His eyes landed on her for a brief moment to gauge her silence – or maybe to confirm that she was still there – before he continued. "I went to see my psychiatrist this morning. He upped my lithium and said it may take a few weeks to stabilize, which means I'll have a lot more sleepless nights to think about this." He flinched. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that," he said, scrubbing a frustrated hand over his face. "Look, I'm not asking for your forgiveness. And I don't expect you to ever want to talk to me again. I just wanted to explain myself so you didn't go off thinking I was some kind of creep. Although, I wouldn't blame you if you still thought that I was."

Katniss swallowed the lump in her throat and kept her eyes trained on the floor. She knew she should say something, but she didn't even know where to begin. Instead, she reached for the plastic flower he had given her and pressed her thumb against a drop of remaining beer until it coated her finger. One of the petals sprang free from the woven design and she carefully folded it back into place as he had done before.

Peeta shifted in his seat and rested his clenched fists against the table. He wasn't waiting for her to say something, he was waiting for her to leave, and a part of her wondered why she hadn't. That's what every other person in her life would have done to her. Haymitch would probably have a field day on the topic, she thought bitterly.

"Maybe we should invite your therapist and my therapist to go bowling," she mumbled flatly. Her eyes widened. Had she said that out loud?

"You too?"

There was a flicker of hope behind his expression that she found overwhelming. He wasn't some perfect guy with a perfect life. He was just as broken as her, but he trusted her. She had to learn to trust him too. What had Haymitch called it? Empathy.

"Well, no," Katniss said. She felt her shoulders tense at the base of her neck as she searched for a way out, but after his confession it seemed silly. She could do this. She could be honest. "It's for anger management, I guess."

"I can see that," he said, letting his easy smile return. "Did you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "I also apparently suffer from severe trust issues."

"I understand," he said, but she could sense that he was hurt by her caginess.

She opened her mouth to say something, but any word failed to sound. She wasn't ready to tell him.

Katniss dabbed her napkin at a pool of grease on one of her pepperonis, pursing her lips in an attempt to conjure the words that could help alleviate the uneasy tension that had settled between them. She looked to Peeta – he was always much better at these types of things – but he was busy holding the pitcher of beer to the light, studying it with fake interest, as if her earlier dismissal hadn't bothered him.

The crash of pins between the rumbling thunder of balls rolling down their lanes filled the bowling ally and brought her back to attention. "Do you want to maybe bowl a few games?" she asked, shrugging her shoulder noncommittally, in case he declined.

His eyes snapped to meet hers, obscured by the neon lights that reflected off his lenses. He hesitated, his expression questioning, until finally, a relieved grin curled his lips.

He chuckled in that bashful, uniquely Peeta way, and shook his head. "Bowling? Let me guess, another art that you've mastered to an ego crushing degree."

"It's not an art," she scoffed, picking the piece of pepperoni from her slice of pizza and popping it into her mouth. "It's a science."

He plucked the last piece of pepperoni off her plate and wiggled his eyebrows challengingly as he ate it. "You just want to show off," he said.

"No. It was for the shoes."

"The shoes?" he repeated quizzically, and Katniss folded her slice of pizza in half to take a bite.

Where was she going with this? she wondered, suddenly feeling mortified for mentioning it. She looked down at his sneakers, which were always impeccably tied in an elaborate looking knot. Was that something normal to notice? The way someone tied their shoes? That was the thing about Peeta though, she noticed everything about him.

She bowed her head to hide the flush in her cheeks. "I'm curious how one unravels those tangled knots on your shoes."

He followed the line of her gaze and smirked in recognition. Shaking his head at her, he kicked his toe against the leg of her chair in a playful gesture, forcing it a few inches from the table.

"Don't knock it until someone stomps on your untied shoelaces, and you end up with a broken collarbone," he said. His tone wasn't serious, but there was a faint, warning look in his eye.

Katniss was weary she had touched upon a sore subject, but then he began to laugh, so contagiously that soon, she was laughing too. But then they weren't laughing, and Peeta was looking at her with such intensity that she forgot how to breathe.

She became mesmerized by the lines of his mouth. The corners of his lips were stained by the marinara from the pizza, and when he set his jaw, there was a shallow dimple in his chin that became more pronounced. She lifted her eyes to meet his and only caught a flash of his darkened eyes before he was kissing her.

She gasped, allowing for his tongue to touch hers. The kiss was spicy from the pepperoni and slightly sour from the beer, and their lips moved against the others with an unexpected ease. Katniss felt an unfamiliar warmth pool in her stomach, sending a fluttering sensation from her chest to the tips of her fingers. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be happy.

"Sorry," he said after the kiss had ended, but the shy smile that lingered afterward said otherwise. "You, uh, had something right here," he said, pointing at the corner of his own mouth.

"Right," she said, unable to refuse her smile that now mirrored his. "Did you get it?"

He kissed her again like she had wanted, and she melted against him as much as the table between them would allow.

"Okay, no bowling," he said, his face still so close, his features were an intoxicating blur. "What else could we do?" Katniss was ready for more kissing, and leaned in for another only to be met with a finger against her lips. "I think they have Go Karts."

She stared at him incredulously. "You're kidding."

He appeased her with another kiss that was too brief, his fingers tugging on the ragged end of her braid.

"Can we stay here a bit longer, please?" he said.

He was afraid to take her home with him, and maybe she should have been too. Things between them had been moving too fast. They barely knew one another outside of a few ill fated encounters, and the amount of baggage they both carried did not fare well for the intensity she felt towards him.

"Okay," she said nervously.

"Go Karts then?" he said, his tone so hopeful and bright that her heart began to beat a little faster.

Her eyes widened in a brief moment of panic that she quickly stifled. This wasn't a big deal. She could be honest. "I don't know how to drive," she admitted shyly.

"Really?" He raised a curious eyebrow.

"I've never had to," she shrugged, leaving it at that. She could barely ride a bike.

"The great Katniss Everdeen isn't the master of something?" he said, his smile a bit too pleased. He tucked her loose hair behind her ear and she held her breath in anticipation of another kiss that never came.

"You don't know that, I haven't tried it yet," she found the composure to say.

"I'll teach you," he said.

There was a track behind the alley that twisted and looped across itself with a few gradual turns. Being a Friday night, the roped off ramp leading up to the loading area was packed with teenagers and a few adults with their kids. Peeta and Katniss watched the little cars zip around the track with the hum of the lawn mower engines that propelled them no faster than 15 miles per hour.

The operator opened the gate to usher them into the pit lane, pointing at a kid and then to the car they should occupy.

"We want a double," Peeta said, pointing towards the two seated cars that only the young children with parents were filing into.

The operator looked at him dubiously then pointed towards the last car in the line with a shrug.

Peeta pantomimed opening the driver side door for Katniss and gestured invitingly towards the seat.

"Seat belt," he said, buckling frayed lap strap across her hips. He pointed at her right foot. "Green means go." Left foot. "Red means stop. Two footed driving is not really applicable in the real world though, and should never be practiced unless you want to taunt every driver behind you with an unpredictable misadventure. At least if you have an automatic transmission. Involving the clutch is opening an entirely new can of worms. You'd probably enjoy it with maintaining RPMs and things. That's all about math and science, right?"

She lifted both eyebrows calmly. "Green, go. Red, stop," she repeated to reel him back in.

He chuckled sheepishly and scratched at a lock of hair that was curled around his temple. "Yeah," he said. He climbed into the passenger seat, barely fitting in the small compartment with his knees against his chest, and buckled his own seat belt.

The operator came through and instructed her to hold down the break while he pulled the ignition cord that brought the engine to life. Each car rolled out one by one, and when it was Katniss's turn, she switched her weight to the green pedal, jerking them forward abruptly with a few sputtering leaps.

"Gradual," Peeta advised politely.

"Sorry," she said.

The car whizzed ahead to its top speed as she approached the first turn and she cut the wheel sharply, the entire car skidding a few feet to the left before it moved forward again.

"I know, I know, centrifugal force," she said before he could.

"If that's what you call it," he said. He pointed towards the next turn. "Anticipate it," he said. "You've got to ease into the break first."

She began to lightly press the red pedal until the car slowed to a manageable speed then gently turned the steering wheel.

"Green," he said on the outside edge of the turn and they seamlessly began to speed up again. "And now you've got it!" he beamed proudly.

She rounded the next turn without any instruction and pressed more confidently on the gas.

"Now go ahead and parallel park beside those tires over there," he said. She flashed him a pointed look before quickly returning her attention to the road. "Kidding!"

The kart was already handicapped by its heavier load, and Katniss's inexperience slowed them even more, so the other cars were beginning to lap them before they'd reached the start line again.

"It's okay," Peeta shouted, waving the cars past them. "Go around!"

She elbowed him in the ribs causing the kart to jump to the side and Peeta dropped his arm across her shoulder and placed his other hand on the wheel to help steer.

The fifteen minutes of track time had ended and the operator was flagging cars back into the pit lane. Katniss idled on the break while they waited for their car to get switched off, the warm hum of the engine seeming to match the silent giddiness that she was feeling. She glanced at Peeta and then away again. The second time she snuck a glance, he was looking at her too. They smiled at one another as if sharing a secret then turned to face forward at the same time. The arm that was around her shoulder tightened, and she only needed to tilt her head slightly for his mouth to find hers. The kiss they shared was the chaste kind, full of awkward angles and quiet laughter. The kind that she should have experienced a hundred times before this, yet was only discovering for the first time.

Her foot lifted from the break and the kart lurched forward enough to bounce softly off the rubber bumper of the kart in front of them.

"Watch it!" the agitated driver grunted over their shoulder.

"Sorry!" Peeta said. He flashed Katniss a teasingly reproachful glare, and they both laughed before they were kissing again.

"Get a room," the Go Kart operator mumbled under his breath as he switched off their engine.

They climbed out of the car and Peeta took her hand. "That sounds like some sound advice," he said. And despite all the kissing, the implication caught her off guard.

She wanted Peeta. She  _really_  wanted Peeta. She had been ready to go home with him earlier. But now, when she really thought about it, she was just as afraid of that room as Peeta had been before. What if things changed once they got there and they began to argue again? What if they said or did things that couldn't as easily be forgiven?

She wanted to stay here, where things were good. Where they were happy.

She caught his hand as they crossed the parking lot and held onto it tightly. It was dark now, but still not late, and while the parking lot was fairly full, there wasn't much traffic through it.

When they reached his car, Katniss leaned against the passenger door before he could open it, turning so she was facing him. He smiled at her lazily, accepting her silent invitation with a kiss that made her knees go weak. His hands held innocently at the nape of her neck, tangling his fingers through her sloppy braid to kiss her more deeply.

She gripped at his waist, rocking him forward just enough for their hips to bump together. She did it again, more deliberately, and his hand fisted in her hair.

"Let's go," he whispered against her mouth.

"Not yet." She wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him again. Her breath catching when his touch moved down her side. A hand palming her breast before sliding down her back to cup her ass and hold her firmly against his erection.

"We need to go," he said.

"No!" she said frantically. She didn't want to leave this. She didn't want to ruin things again. Didn't want the harshness of reality to ever settle back in. She reached blindly for the handle and cracked open the door to the backseat. "We could stay here," she said.

He looked at her quizzically, but any hesitation was gone in a flash. Before she could even process it, she was spread across the backseat, her body keening as he touched her everywhere at once. The door was still wide open and his feet were still on the pavement, using the steady earth as leverage to thrust against her.

He reached between them to unbutton her shorts, shucking them along with her underwear down her legs in a single motion. His face dipped between her legs, his mouth hot against her entrance as his tongue swept agonizingly briefly between her folds. Then he was kissing up her stomach and the steady pressure of his cock through his jeans was rocking against her.

"Fuck," he muttered, as he nipped at her breast through her thin tee shirt. He struggled to slip his wallet from his back pocket, refusing to break his exploration of her as he rifled through it. He paused suddenly and collapsed against her. "Do you have a condom?" he asked with a deflated sigh.

She scrambled to sit up on her elbows. "What? Um, no."

"Okay. Okay. Well are you…" his face was already flushed, but the color seemed to deepen. "Are you on anything?"

"No."

"Shit," he said. "It's okay, my dorm's only a few blocks away."

He began to pull away and she panicked, locking her legs around his waist to hold him in place. "Do you think you could pull out?" They didn't have time to do much else in a crowded parking lot.

His eyes were glazed behind his disheveled glasses while he contemplated her question. "Yeah," he said with some uncertainty, nodding his head to garner more confidence. "Definitely."

He loosened his belt and lowered his jeans and underwear enough to release his erection. She slid to the edge of the bench, opening her legs wide as he positioned himself against her. They groaned in unison when he slipped inside, his pelvis crashing against hers erratically as he pumped with frantic strokes. Their night of kisses and innocent touches had kept her on edge the entire night, and she came on the first thrust with little provocation.

It was quick, less than a dozen strokes before the warm shot of semen pooled slickly across her pelvis and abdomen. They stared at one another, bewildered and out of breath, and then he began to laugh.

"Did that just happen?" he said.

She smiled nervously. "Yeah."

"Jesus," he said with a chuckle and then let out a heavy breath. "Wow." He dabbed at the mess he'd left on her stomach with the inside of his shirt. "Fuck," he said with a disbelieving smirk.

There were people waiting outside the entrance to the bowling alley now, and although Katniss doubted they could see them, she was painfully aware of how exposed she was. She pulled her shorts on, and hastily plaited her braid into some semblance of normal. Peeta was sitting beside her in the back seat, and when he took her hand into his and brushed his thumb across her knuckles, it was with such adoration that she wondered why she had been in such a hurry to hold onto him. This - whatever it was between them - wasn't something fleeting. He was hers if she'd have him, so long as she didn't let him go.

"Let's go back to your place," she said.

He nodded with a smile, "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the insanely long wait! Thanks to everyone who has stuck around. As usual, you can find me on tumblr @absnow

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr (absnow)


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